


a little bit bothersome

by Karentt1



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Falling In Love, Florist Crowley (Good Omens), I will update tags as I go, M/M, Murder Mystery, btw i dont have a beta, i would die for crowley tbh, idk how to break into a museum so, please tell me, so if there are any mistakes, this is set in 2019 because 2020 sucks ass, who's ready to read a mediocre mystery fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26005165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karentt1/pseuds/Karentt1
Summary: Anthony J Crowley just wants to open his business and live a peaceful life. But when a murder occurs on his street and it becomes apparent nothing will be done about it, Crowley takes it upon himself to solve the mystery. He enlists the help of his next door neighbour, Azira Fell to help solve the mysery but things aren't what they appear.---“Fell, you are the most knowledgeable of all the people here and the most likely to listen to me,” Crowley began, leaning forward, his glasses slipping slightly. “I’m guessing you don’t want this anymore than I do?”Fell was silent for a few seconds, before finally replying. “It’s murder,” he said, a weird tone in his voice, like he was speaking through a sob. “Why would anyone want it?”“Then help me.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> i cant believe im doing this oh my god
> 
> i cant tell y'all the relief i feel rn. for the last few months ive been writing for motherfucking modern family, a fucking sit com- 
> 
> anyway uh, i hope you enjoy, updates every few days!!

Anthony J Crowley wanted to be a florist. 

It wasn’t an occupation that looked like it suited him. When you thought about what a florist looked like, you would probably picture a robust woman with rosy cheeks and swirly skirts, smelling of sweet lavender. Crowley, however, wore all black clothes, typically form fitting items that made his slender frame all the more visible, large combat boots that gave him that extra bit of height, and large round sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose that he never took off. His long red hair was always tied back, whether in a ponytail or braid, away from his face. Crowley looked like he would be more at home in a vinyl or tattoo shop. People like him didn’t sell flowers. 

He was, however, very adamant about his career choice. He had been certain about what he wanted to do with his life since he was seven years old. His mother had taken him down to a boardwalk on a vacation in America, where a little botany shop was nestled between the fudge shop and a gift store. The colours had been so bright in his eyes and the flowers smelled like sweet cloying perfume, and Crowley loved it. He was small for his age, the type of kid bullies would target on playgrounds, and to him, the world was already shaping up to be a cruel and unfair one. The lady who owned it smiled at him and handed him a singular tulip, restoring hope inside him. She had been so kind and caring, with a laugh that made Crowley feel warm inside. Crowley wanted to be that for other kids. He wanted to hand out flowers like she did, promising beautiful things in their lives, braiding tiny petunias into little girl’s hair. He wanted to be a light in the darkness for kids whose world view was already dimming. 

His parents didn’t share the same sentiment. His father was a big-shot business man who wanted his kid to be a lawyer, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It caused many fights between them when Crowley was just a teenager, and maybe he sometimes only said it to piss his dad off. Sometimes it seemed like the only person who actually loved him was his mother, and even then she shook her head in disappointment when he yelled out he wanted to be a florist. They both supported him, yes, but it seemed like they were just waiting until he would slink back home, eyes firmly planted on the ground, begging to be taken back.

It wasn’t in Crowley to give up. His parents may have expected him home after a few months, but he wouldn’t give in so easily. He wanted this job since he was a little boy and he was going to get it. The hatred his parents held for his chosen occupation only spurred him on; he always was just a little bit troublesome. So when he got the opportunity to move and buy his own shop, he leaped upon it, and waved goodbye to his parents, who watched him leave with worry and disappointment in their eyes. 

The shop was huddled in Soho, a little neighbourhood in England. It was surrounded by many other shops and houses, a bustling place constantly being bombarded with tourists. It almost seemed reminiscent of the 1800’s, with its little brick buildings and fancy metal wires twisting in many shapes. 

Crowley had only seen it once. It used to be a cafe, but was being remodelled for him. Crowley had flown over, using his parents money of course, to see it. It was small, but cozy, the exact feeling he wanted in the shop. The windows were large and the floor was being torn out and replaced with dirt and concrete so Crowley could actually garden inside. There was a counter, and behind it was an area he could use to store plants. It was a good shop, Crowley decided. He wouldn’t mind working there. 

It was beside a small bookshop, but Crowley didn’t pay it much mind. The previous owner of the cafe, now destined to be a flower shop, warned him against the man inside. 

“He doesn’t like people and I’m pretty sure he’s some sort of supernatural entity,” the woman laughed, a lovely girl named Sammy. Crowley laughed too, but there was an uneasiness in her eyes, almost like she believed what she was saying, or was at least starting to. As far as Crowley could see, there was nothing wrong with the shop next to him and he caught not a single glimpse of the mysterious owner. 

“I’ll keep a lookout for him,” Crowley promised. 

A few months later and the shop was ready to move into. There was an apartment above where Crowley would be living. His parents refused to pay for a different living space for him. In fact, the minute he left home he would be cut off from his family's money. Crowley didn’t mind that fact; it pissed him off a bit at first, but when he became more used to the idea, he learned to live with it. He knew his flowers were beautiful, more beautiful than anyone else. He was told he had a gift for botany, and he knew he would flourish in no time. He didn’t have to worry about money once he was settled in. 

So he kissed his parents goodbye, promised he would call, and flew over from the bustling city of Manchester, and headed to London. He got off the airplane, smelled the rain soaked air, and smiled. He would do alright here. 

The next few days were a blur to him, seemingly passing by in seconds. He focused on starting to settle in, bringing in some plants and flowers, arranging them in ways that were aesthetically pleasing. He made sure to send out some ads and flyers so people would know he was there, and prepared himself for the grand opening. He even hung up a banner, hand painted by him, on the store sign. He could already tell he was getting some attention; people would walk by and look into the store, almost like they were making a mental note to check it out. He could already smell the success in the air, could taste it on his tongue. He knew he was talented and he could finally prove it. 

He called his parents after dinner the night before the grand opening, talking to them about what was happening. He went on for a few hours, not wanting to admit he missed his parents voice. It was the first time he would be away from them for long periods of time, and even though they had their ups and downs in their relationship, Crowley would miss them. He said I love you, then switched off the phone, ready to sleep. 

He went to sleep on Sunday, the grand opening on Monday morning. He snuggled into his bed, not yet put on a bed frame, but covered in three giant heavy blankets and three pillows, and imagined what the next day would bring. He was excited; he wanted this since he was seven and it was finally here. It may have been a bit of childish excitement inside him, but he was glad he moved. He hadn’t felt that happy in years. 

He woke up the next day, an hour earlier than scheduled at 4 am, to the sounds of sirens. The blue and red of the lights flickered through the room and Crowley’s eyes, a bit more sensitive to light than most, snapped open. He groggily sat up, wiping his eyes, ready to check out what was happening. He threw on a single silk shirt that covered those tiny shorts he slept in and a pair of sunglasses, aware he looked ridiculous, and walked outside. It was still dawn and the air was chilly, filled with moisture. 

Police officers were outside the shop, covering the street with bright yellow warning tape. There was already a crowd forming around, waiting to see what would happen and what was going on. 

“You can’t be out here,” someone said and Crowley turned. A police officer approached him, looking angry. Crowley looked him up and down, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. That was one advantage to wearing them all the time; no one could tell when you were being rude. 

“I live here,” Crowley snapped, still tired. He was cold and wet, the morning air still not warming up, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but he wasn’t leaving until he got some answers. “What is going on?” 

“There’s been a murder,” the officer said, moving to the side, obscuring Crowley’s view from the investigation. “The body was found a few hours ago on this street. We’re shutting everything down until we figure out who did it.” 

Crowley slowly blinked behind his sunglasses. That wasn’t what he expected to hear that morning. He was looking forward to the new customers he could entertain on the first day of his new business, but now that wasn’t a possibility. He wondered who was dead and who killed them. He thought that Soho was a quiet place, but it was shaping up to be quite eventful indeed. He wondered if he was safe here, if moving was a mistake. 

“But I have a grand opening today, you can’t shut it down.” 

“Sorry kid,” the officer shrugged, and Crowley bristled. He was twenty-one for goodness sake. He hadn’t been a kid in a long time. “This is routine at this point. Happens every year. We’re going to have to ask you a few questions if you don't mind.” 

“I do actually,” Crowley muttered, but compiled. A different officer approached him with a notebook, clicking a pen so she could write some notes down. She looked nicer, but Crowley was distrustful. Her hair was a light brown and she had glasses on, and she looked almost as tired as he was. 

“So where were you at 9 o’clock last night?” she asked, looking up at him over the rim of her lens. 

“I was on the phone with my parents,” Crowley said. “They’re in Manchester, if you want the phone number I can give it to you. I just moved here.” 

“We won’t need anything like that,” the officer waved off. “Okay, and what about at 11 o”clock?” 

“I was asleep. I have a grand opening today-” 

“Not today anymore,” the first officer said, and Crowley resisted the urge to stick up his middle finger, but figured it might get him arrested, and all he wanted to do was go back home, whether to him that meant in Manchester or back at his apartment. He didn’t know which one at that point. 

“I  _ used  _ to have a grand opening, but I guess that won’t be happening anymore,” Crowley said bitterly. The woman looked at him with pity, snapping her notebook shut.

“I’m sorry sir, but we have to make sure everything is safe before we open this street again. It might be a couple weeks at the most, but you should be fine in a couple days.” She smiled at him. “You own the new botany shop?” 

“Yeah, Edens flowers.” 

“Then we’ll contact you if we have any more questions. Good luck with the new business,” she said, before pulling the first officer away. Crowley was left standing on the curb, wearing nothing but his pyjamas and sunglasses, feeling a sense of dread fill him. A gust of wind blew through, waving his hair around wildly. The chill entered his bones, causing him to shiver. 

There had been a murder. The first day of his new business and there was a murder. He didn’t know what to do. He had payments to make in a couple days and he didn’t have enough money in his account to do it. He had a little money left over and he was hoping to earn enough over the first few days to meet the payment, but that wasn’t an option anymore. Crowley kicked the ground angrily, muttering curses under his breath. What a wonderful way to start the day. 

“It’s such a shame,” a smooth voice said, and Crowley looked beside him, not expecting anyone else to speak to him. 

The man was old, most likely in his late forties to early fifties, but still handsome. He had blond curls that almost looked white in the rising sun and blue eyes. He dressed like it was the 1800’s and was a little chubby around the middle, making him look soft and good at hugs. He smiled gently at Crowley, wisdom in his eyes and kindness in his teeth. He looked like he could sell you the secrets of the universe, or would just give them to you if he liked you well enough. Crowley almost thought he was an angel, a halo of light around his head, looking like he was coming to save the day. 

“Yeah, it’s a murder,” Crowley said, looking away. He could feel warmth in his cheeks and hoped the man thought he was blushing because of the cold. He never thought he would be the type of person into older men, but anything could happen, and really, the man wasn’t that hard on the eyes. 

“It happens every year,” the man continued, his voice soothing. He sounded almost like he should do podcasts, his voice perfectly captivating. “One murder. They always say they’ll figure it, but they never do.” 

Crowley watched him, contemplating what he said. A murder every year. He really wished he had known that before setting up shop in Soho, but he figured if they wanted the sale, they wouldn’t mention anything like that. He wanted to ask the man about it, but he didn’t know how to start. 

The man gazed sadly into the distance before shaking his head, like he was clearing bad thoughts away. “I’m sorry dear boy,” he laughed, holding out his hand for Crowley to shake. “I’m a little scatterbrained this morning, do forgive me. My name is Azira Fell, but call me Fell.” 

Crowley shook Fell’s hand, trying to ignore how the pet name had affected him. It made him feel both small and protected. “I’m Anthony J Crowley. The J is just a J, and if you call me Anthony, I will fight you.” 

He mentally kicked himself. That was not a proper introduction, but Fell just laughed, his eyes twinkling like he was amused. Crowley was just glad he hadn’t been offended. “I will take careful care not to,” he promised. “I own the bookshop right next door to you, A.Z. Fell and Co.” 

So he was the mysterious bookshop owner Sammy had warned him about. He didn’t look evil or even supernatural like she said. He looked like a strange old man, but for the most part harmless. 

“What’s the co?” 

Fell wrinkled his nose at him as if he had never considered that. “I don’t know, I just thought it sounded better that way.” 

Crowley laughed. It was a perfect reason in his eyes. Fell looked at him fondly, before pointing to his shop. “Why don’t you come in? It’s a cool morning and I don’t think you’re dressed properly,” he laughed, eyes raking Crowley up and down. Crowley definitely blushed this time; he had forgotten all he was wearing was a pair of shorts and a silk pyjama shirt. Fell seemed almost amused at his embarrassment. 

“I would love to come in,” Crowley said, following to the doorstep of his shop. 

“Wonderful,” Fell replied, guiding Crowley to the entrance. “It’s been forever since I hosted someone.” He reached towards the door handle, then turned to Crowley. “Oh, and my dear boy?” he added, his smile turning strained. “Don’t touch anything.” 

Crowley nodded, then Fell opened the door, revealing the musty shop. Crowley slowly entered, trying hard not to appear like he was in awe, but it was getting hard to pretend the more of the shop he saw. 

The shop was quaint, almost tiny in the sense that there was no room to move around. Books covered every surface, ranging from the floor to the tables to the small couch in the corner. They were obviously old, covered in dust and some yellow substance. There must have been thousands hidden away inside this tiny shop. It smelled like old Earl Gray tea and dust with a slight scent of vanilla. Small trinkets covered the surfaces as well, clearly souvenirs from many trips around the world. It was dark inside the building, illuminated only by tiny lights everywhere, almost like candles. Crowley could barely see through his sunglasses, but he had gotten used to looking in the dark. Besides, it was better than revealing his eyes to the public, and the nice old man who invited Crowley inside his shop. 

Crowley looked around, hoping his jaw wasn’t open. It was the most incredible sight he had ever seen. The decades of patience and searching to acquire such an extensive collection, and the money that must have been put in to buy some of the books was astonishing. He felt respect for the man grow inside him. 

“Do you like it?” Fell asked, sounding almost shy, like the opinion of a young florist who dressed like a skull-crushing punk mattered to him. 

“It’s okay,” Crowley said, turning back to him. He wasn’t about to admit how amazing he thought it was, especially to someone he just met. He always did this; he kept his emotions deep inside him, locked away. Maybe one day Fell would be able to see what he kept locked up. Only time would tell if he stuck around long enough. Crowley hoped he would. He was enjoying this man's company. 

“Please, sit down, take off your sunglasses, it must be quite dark in here for you,” Fell said, picking some books up and moving them to a spot on the floor so Crowley could sit on the couch. Crowley tentatively sat down as Fell settled in an armchair across from him, still fussing. 

The couch was old and very worn out. It was soft and comfortable, and Crowley resisted the urge to lay down and sleep. There wasn’t much room to lay down anyway. Stacks of books surrounded him, and Crowley was once more hit with astonishment. Everything that Fell had accomplished was incredible. 

“With all due respect,” Crowley started, adjusting his glasses slightly so they covered his eyes better. “I would like to keep these on.” He flashed a bright smile. “Medical issues, you understand.” 

“Oh, of course,” Fell said, nodding his head, and left it as it was. Crowley was grateful for it. He had met too many people who loved to pry into his life. 

“Would you like some tea?” Fell asked, tilting his head. His blue eyes almost flashed, like a light in the darkness. Crowley nodded and Fell got up, heading into the backroom. He emerged a few seconds later holding a giant tray with a steaming pot of tea. Crowley watched it strangely, wondering how someone could make tea that fast. Fell noticed his questioning look. 

“It was pre-made. I like tea,” he explained, sitting down once more. He poured a cup for Crowley, the smell of Earl Gray filling the air. He handed the cup of Crowley, who held it gently. The ceramic was heating up in his hands and it warmed his soul, like it was someone holding his hand instead. “So what brings you to Soho?” 

“I'm opening a new shop,” Crowley explained, sipping his tea. It burned his lip, a tingling sensation on his skin. “Edens flowers. I’m a florist.” 

“What a delightful occupation,” Fell laughed, and Crowley raised an eyebrow. He had never met someone who talked the same as Fell. It was almost like he was a different time, his clothes almost solidifying that fact. He wore cream coloured trousers and a waistcoat, looking right at home in the 1800's. 

“Indeed,” Crowley drawled. “And what about you? How is business? Get any customers?” He mentally yelled at himself to reign it in, to give Fell a break. He was rambling, something he did when he was nervous. 

Fells face darkened. He brushed his finger along the rim of his tea cup, looking almost angry. “I don’t like customers,” he said petulantly, and Crowley almost laughed at him. A bookseller who didn’t like customers. Crowley didn’t think that was possible. 

“How does that work?” 

“I don’t like people poking around my store,” Fell explained, drinking. “They mess everything up, don’t put the books back in their proper place and buy things! It’s inexcusable,” he pouted. “I sell my things sometimes, but only when need be.” 

“That makes sense,” Crowley lied. It really didn’t; why not just buy a house and keep your books there, then sell them online when you need to? But Fell didn’t look like the type of person who would be technologically advanced. Crowley almost thought he could see a 1950's telephone hooked on the wall. “Have you been here awhile?” 

“Since I was a little boy,” Fell laughed. “My father owned this place and I took over for him when he died. It’s a family business you see.” 

“Wow,” Crowley murmured, imagining that. He wondered how it must feel to grow up in the bookshop, surrounded by knowledge, unanswered questions, and unproven theories. “You must know everyone in Soho.” 

“When you live here long enough, it’s impossible not to.” 

The next few seconds were silent, almost awkward in a way, and Crowley found his mind drifting to what Fell had said outside. It was hard not to; Crowley had never been so close to a murder. 

_ “It happens every year. One murder. They always say they’ll figure it, but they never do.”  _

He wondered what that meant. How could they not figure it out? One murder every year and people just went along with their day. He didn’t want to live in an area where someone was killed every year. He wanted to know what was happening, if someone even knew something about it. 

“What did you mean outside?” Crowley asked, setting down his cup. Fell looked at him quizzically and Crowley rushed to clarify “About the murders happening every year?” 

“My dear boy,” Fell sighed, looking almost disappointed. “Must we talk about these things? It was such a wonderful morning-” 

“Someone was murdered and I may not be able to open my business, my only source of income at the moment,” Crowley interrupted. “I would like to know what is going on, and you seem like the best person to ask.” 

Fell sighed again. “It’s not anything special,” he started, his eyes looking away. He looked resigned, like he had stopped caring years ago about the murders. “It started even before I was born. Every year, someone is killed. Mostly children, but sometimes adults. Every year. One person is found dead.” 

Crowley tried to imagine that, becoming resigned, almost numb, to the murder every year. He didn’t understand how someone could be comfortable with death. He dressed in all black, looking like every jobless punk parents warned their kids about, but death always scared him. He hated killing insects as a kid, instead trying to save them when he could. The resignation on Fell's face terrified him. 

“Is there a reason why?” 

“No one knows,” Fell said quietly. “It’s just something that happens here. People who have been here long enough just stop caring.” 

“Someone like you?” He didn’t mean for it to sound so accusing. 

Fell looked at him, sadness in his eyes. The blue perfectly matched the mood. “It’s just one of those things you get used to,” he explained. “They say they’ll solve it but they never do. What else can we do then just wait and protect our kids, praying they won’t be next?” 

“Well for starters, you can start doing something yourself,” Crowley said, his mind racing. His fingers shook, desperately wishing he could do something. His parents always said he had a strong sense of justice, even if that justice meant going against the law. “If the police aren’t doing something, why don’t you?” 

Fell looked almost scandalised at the suggestion. “What exactly, dear boy, do you propose I do?” 

“I don’t know, but don’t just sit around,” Crowley exclaimed, waving his hand around. He became more animated when he got excited, sometimes even accidentally hitting people in the face. “If you do nothing, then you’re just enabling the killer. Demand justice, fight for it, do something!.” 

“You’re so noble,” Fell started, and Crowley involuntarily went red, “But I’m afraid that isn’t possible. My dear boy, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away lest you get chosen next.” 

Crowley opened his mouth to speak again, but Fell shot him a look, and Crowley went silent. He felt almost like he was a child being scolded by his parents when he did something wrong. Fell almost had a fatherly presence around him, as if he was two seconds from offering you life advice. He instead sipped his tea again, the liquid growing cold. He finished the drink, then set the tea cup down. Goosebumps covered in skin and he was once again brought to the attention of his outfit. 

“I have to go,” he said, licking his lips. 

“Don’t go, I’m sorry if I offended you-” 

Crowley waved him off, interrupting his frenzied apologies. “It’s not you. I’m still in the pyjamas, I need to get changed.” 

Fell looked embarrassed, his cheeks growing red, something Crowley privately took note of. He looked almost adorable with crimson cheeks, like apples on his skin. “Oh, of course. My mistake.” 

“It was nice to meet you,” Crowley said, standing up. He brushed himself off, the black fabric covered in dust and feathers from the old couch. The feathers were white and he assumed they came from inside the couch, maybe from a rip at the bottom. 

“Same to you dear boy,” Fell said, leading Crowley out. They bypassed a stack of books, almost knocking it over and Fell almost jumped out of his skin when he noticed. “Come by anytime, unless it's to buy books of course. Find somewhere else for that.” 

“I don’t read often,” Crowley laughed, his hand on the door handle. “So you don’t have to worry about anything.” 

Fell jokingly gasped, bringing a hand to his chest like he was offended. “You don’t read? How dreadful!” 

Crowley smiled and shook his head. “Good day Fell,” he replied, then slipped out the door, heading back to his own apartment. While he walked the few steps to the right, he thought about what Fell said about the murders. The strange circumstances intrigued him; how could someone be killed every year and the case not be solved? He didn’t want to live in an area where murder was normalised. 

He entered his apartment, then sighed. It had been a strange morning and now all he wanted to do was sleep. He hoped everything would be solved in the morning, like it was a bad dream that didn’t mean a thing. 

* * *

He woke up the next morning to another murder. 

It was around the same time as the other night when the red and blue flashing lights filled the room. Crowley groggily sat up, rubbed his eyes, and sighed. So it wasn't just a horrible dream of his. He looked around for a few seconds, then decided to go back to sleep. He didn’t feel like getting up that morning, and he knew it would be the same as yesterday. He just didn’t know if it was more investigators or another murder. 

His dreams were dark, as if they jumped out of his skull and into the real world instead of remaining in his head like they were supposed to. 

A few hours later he got a knock at the door, something he had expected to happen earlier. By this time he was already up and was just finishing breakfast, a small bowl of cereal. It was all he had the cupboards, and it was all he would have for a while if he was forced to shut down. 

He opened the door and it was the same officer as yesterday, the woman. She wasn’t wearing glasses this time, and Crowley assumed it was contacts instead. She warned him that there had been another murder, and that they were shutting down the street permanently for a couple weeks. It was expected, but Crowley’s hopes still fell. 

“I don’t get it,” she said, writing down Crowley's contact information just in case they needed to talk to him. Her pen flew over the paper, faster than Crowley ever thought one would be able to move. “There are never two murders here. It’s always just been the one.” 

Crowley nodded silently, still processing the first one. By this time he was seriously contemplating heading back to his parents place and asking to stay with them. They would understand, he knew, but they would use that opportunity to try and make him change his career path, and Crowley didn't want to deal with that. Besides, he had pride. Instead he waved goodbye to the officer and shut the door behind him. 

He looked around his apartment, thinking hard. He would lose this place in a few days if he didn’t do anything, and if the police hadn’t found the killer after years of murders, then he knew they wouldn’t be able to do anything now. He needed his shop to open or else he would lose it for good. He briefly considered opening regardless, but thought better of it. That would just lead to a fine and Crowley didn’t need one of those at the moment. What he needed were answers, a promise that things would turn out okay. He didn’t want his dreams of opening a shop to be for naught. 

His thoughts turned towards Fell, his mysterious new neighbour. The man was a strange one; Crowley had never known people like him could exist. There was almost a pull inside his stomach, forcing him towards the man, and Crowley wondered if it was just a silly crush that would go away in a couple months or something more. He disregarded that thought almost immediately; it wasn’t as if Fell would even entertain the idea of him. 

After lunch he decided to leave his apartment. The streets were blocked off, the area where the two bodies were found taped off with warning tape. Crowley watched it for a few seconds, feeling himself shake. He didn’t know if it was from fear or rage, but he knew he didn’t want to be there. Two murders in the span of two days; he didn’t know if the killer would strike again, and he knew the police were useless. They wouldn’t do anything to help him. 

He looked at his hands that shook though he didn’t know why. He pursed his lips and came to a decision. He didn’t know if it was the right one, but he knew he had to try. He spun on his heel and turned back to the buildings behind him. 

_ “You lied to me,”  _ he thought, looking at A.Z. Fell and Co across the street. He stood there a few seconds, before making his decision. He walked over to the shop and knocked on the door, a bit harder than he wanted to. He wondered if he pounded hard enough if the ancient door would fall down. A few seconds later and Fell was looking out the window, gesturing for Crowley to come inside. Crowley obliged. 

“Why hello my dear boy,” Fell breathed, leading Crowley into the shop once more. He looked just as handsome as before, but Crowley couldn’t focus on that. “How lovely to see you again so soon. I thought I scared you off.” He awkwardly laughed, trying to lighten the mood. They both knew why Crowley was there. Fell seemed intent to ignore the obvious, but Crowley wanted answers, and for some reason, this man drew him in. Azira Fell would be the best bet on getting where he wanted to go. 

“There were two murders,” Crowley said quietly, sitting down on the couch. He didn’t bother with pleasantries; he was tired and worried, and he needed help, and there was something about this man that he knew would help him. This mysterious man in front of him was his best bet. “Why?” 

“Well, how should I know?” Fell said tensely, sitting down. “I was just relaying to you what I knew. This has never happened before.” 

He looked around nervously, like his entire worldview had been destroyed. Crowley supposed it had; if the murders really had only been happening one at a time, then this was uncharted territory for the man and it showed. Fell looked like he was ready to bolt at any moment. 

Crowley sighed. He regretted ever moving to Soho. He wished that he stayed in Manchester with his parents. There were plenty of good shops there he could have bought. Why out of all places did he choose here, and right during murder season? 

“Fell, you are the most knowledgeable of all the people here and the most likely to listen to me,” Crowley began, leaning forward, his glasses slipping slightly though not enough to reveal his eyes. “I’m guessing you don’t want this anymore than I do?” 

Fell was silent for a few seconds, before finally replying. “It’s murder,” he said, a weird tone in his voice, like he was speaking through a sob. “Why would anyone want it?” 

“Then help me.” 

Fell’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Help you with what?” 

“Help me catch this killer,” Crowley said determinately, leaning back once again. He felt restless, like he always had to be on the move or something bad would happen. “You don’t have to do anything, just give what you know, even if it’s small pieces.” 

“Crowley,” Fell began, rubbing his forehead in disappointment. “There are trained professionals already working the case-” 

“-who will do nothing,” Crowley interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t you want these murders to stop? Don’t you want to live in peace? There were already two murders, what if there is another one?” 

Fell went quiet. 

“Listen, I have payments due in a week and this shop was supposed to be my income,” Crowley continued, hoping to finally convince the man. If Crowley was going to do anything, he would need help. He couldn’t catch a killer on his own, but he knew that together they had a chance. It was someone in Soho and Fell knew everybody. He would be a useful companion for him to have. “Please Fell.” 

Fell licked his lips, considering. 

“I can do this,” Crowley said, feeling victory bubbling up in his veins. He was so close to convincing the man, he could feel it. Just a couple more pushes and he would have him. “I know I can. There can’t be any more victims. There are children dying, we have to protect them.” 

He couldn’t bear the idea of any more kids being taken away. Crowley always had a soft spot for them, the bringers of the future. They deserved to feel safe and cared for in this cruel world. 

“But I’ve never done anything like this,” Fell said, looking nervous. He wrung his hands together, refusing to look Crowley in the eye. “We are only two people. What chance do we have?” 

“I don’t know, but we have to try.” 

A sharp wind blew outside, a screaming noise that filled the shop. Both of them jumped, already on edge. Crowley looked out the window for a few more seconds, then turned back to the man. Fell looked contemplative, his lips moving slightly. After a few seconds he sighed, slumping over. 

“Okay,” he relented, and Crowley smiled victoriously. “What do you need?” 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They do some investigating and then eat dinner!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this fic!!

Crowley clicked his pen, getting ready to take notes. He was strangely excited for this. Before he wanted to be a florist, he wanted to be a detective, solving crimes. He remembered watching detective movies and loving the main character, always a mysterious man who chain smoked cigars. He let go of that dream within a few months, dismissing it as childish fantasies that would never come true. But he felt his old excitement bubble up in him despite the serious situation. 

“So,” he started, the pen hovering above the paper, shaking slightly. “Who was the first victim this year?” 

They were sitting in the backroom of the bookshop, a different couch available. Fell had brought out some snacks and some tea for them while Crowley asked some questions. He had run back to his apartment after Fell agreed to answer some questions to get some supplies. In these supplies were three pens (different colours), one pad of paper (unused except for a crude drawing of a dick drawn on by Crowley's younger cousin), and a camcorder. 

Fell watched him, looking apprehensive. “Do you really have to take notes my dear boy?” he asked nervously, looking around like at any second the killer would jump out at them. 

Crowley sighed. He had already explained this to the man three times. “We need to make sure that we have everything. Maybe there are connections other people have missed and I have to write it down in case I forget. Now,” he stated, looking at Fell intently, “who was the first victim?” 

Fell sighed, then picked up a shortbread cookie from the tea tray in front of him. He ate it slowly, like he was thinking hard. Crowley watched him, feeling impatient. Fell swallowed hard, then began. 

“His name was Adam Young,” he muttered, sounding close to crying. His voice cracked slightly while he spoke. Crowley quickly wrote down the name. “He was a bright young man. His family went to visit family a few times per year in Soho, and he would visit me every time. I never got to meet his parents though.” 

“How do you know it was him yesterday?” Crowley asked. 

“I saw this body as they were packing him up,” Fell explained. His voice was strained, but his eyes were dry, almost like he didn’t want to cry. Crowley could understand that. He hated crying, especially in front of people. “He was always a sweet kid.” 

“And the most recent one?” 

Fell took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I do not know the most recent victim, I didn’t see anything this morning.” 

Crowley nodded. He knew that, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. In a few days the newspaper would have the full story on it and he could find out when it was released, but for now they would have to make do without knowing the second person. Instead, Crowley finished writing down Adam’s name, then wrote the previous year. 

“What about last year?” 

“Her name was Anathema Device,” Fell answered. “I only met her once. She came into my store, looking for books on occult and angelic creatures. I didn’t sell her one, you know how I am about selling my books. I only knew her name because my friend was teaching her the art of fortune telling.” 

“And who was this friend?”

“Madam Tracy. I could give you her contact information if you’d like.” 

“Maybe later,” Crowley said, waving his hands. He wrote down Anathema’s name in his messy writing. He didn’t have the best handwriting, his teachers always reminded him of that in school. “What about before then?” 

“Warlock Dowling,” Fell said. His voice was slowly clearing up, like it was only Adams death that really affected him. Crowley could understand that; Fell had even said he was close to the boy. “I never met him, but he was the son of some American diplomat. When he came over to our city, everyone knew about it. When he died, it dominated the newspapers for weeks.” 

Crowley hummed in response, adding the name. He recalled reading about that a few years ago, but hadn’t thought much of it. He would have to ask his mom for some old magazines that would hopefully have some useful information in them about the murder. 

“Anyone else?” 

“Newt Pulsifer,” Fell said. “He was a nice young man, but quite frankly…” he trailed off, looking around conspicuously. His eyes darted back and forth, looking like he believed that the walls had ears. Crowley never believed that. “Well, I don't want to be mean, but he was very useless.” 

“Damn,” Crowley said, pausing in his writing to look at him, laughter in his eyes. “What did that poor man ever do to you?” 

Fell held his nose up in the air, looking posh. He pursed his lips, intent on defending himself, and it really shouldn’t have looked as cute as it did. “I meant nothing by it,” he huffed. “He was very sweet. He worked for a friend of Madam Tracy’s and I met him a few times. He just lacked certain skills.” 

“Hey now,” Crowley laughed, returning to his writing. “I was just teasing Azira,” he smiled, filling out the last name. He paused suddenly when he realised what he said. He looked up to see Fell watching him, looking strangely, like he was in a trance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Fell said, snapping out of his trance. He smiled gently at Crowley, and Crowley almost dropped his pen in shock. The man's smile was warm, calming in a way. Crowley felt safe when it was directed at him. “Call me whatever you want dear boy.” 

Crowley nodded, a warmth filling his belly. He would never admit it out loud, but he loved it when Fell called him that, like he really was something dear. Crowley hadn’t been called a pet name in so long. His parents never did that for him, always remaining as cold as they could towards him. 

“Let's continue on,” he said, trying to push past the confusing feelings in his gut. 

The next few hours continued like that, Fell trying to recall all the deaths that had occurred in the area. Crowley diligently wrote down the names, planning to search them up online after when he got home. It would at least allow him to gain more information about the deceased and find a connection between the victims if there was any. There had to be; the deaths weren’t random, they were planned. The killer definitely had an agenda he was getting through, Crowley just had to find out why and what it was. 

The two made it to 1999 before they stopped. Crowley had twenty names that he needed to look up and he could easily call Fell if he wanted more. It was a good place to stop. He snapped the notebook shut, tucking the pen in the elastic band holding his hair back. 

“Thank you so much for this,” he said, shaking Fell’s hand. The man's hand was warm and soft in Crowley's own, and he felt his cheeks heat up. He needed to get his crush under control if they were going to continue working with each other. “You don’t have to do this for me.” 

“Maybe you might actually be able to figure something out,” Fell replied, drawing his hand back. There was a slight tone in his voice that told Crowley that he wasn’t expecting anything to come out of his investigations, but Crowley didn’t care. He got some useful information out of him. “Good luck.” 

Crowley nodded, then took out his phone to look at the time. “Holy shit,” he muttered, shoving it back into his pocket. “It’s 6 o’clock, I need to go find something for dinner.” 

“You don’t need to do that dear boy,” Fell said, standing up. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? I was planning on ordering Chinese.” His eyes were bright, like he was excited for the meal and Crowley privately thought it was adorable. 

“Are you sure?” Crowley asked. He didn’t expect the man who Crowley had basically forced information out of to want him to stay for dinner. But he was hungry and all he had at home was cereal. Chinese was sounding pretty good at the moment. 

“It’s no trouble at all,” Fell laughed, gesturing to Crowley to follow him. Crowley complied, walking behind the man as he led them towards a small desk. On it were small crumpled up menus from various restaurants around the area. Crowley hadn’t quite gotten the time to explore his new home, but he could recognize a few restaurants from the signs they had hung up all over the neighbourhood. 

Fell blushed, noticing his stare. “I eat out a lot,” he defended, almost like he was embarrassed by all the menus. “I’m not that good of a chef, so it’s better just to order takeout.” 

Crowley tried to imagine having so much money you could afford to eat out every night. He couldn’t picture it. It was such a foreign idea to him now that he was cut off from his parents money. He knew how expensive it could get. 

Fell handed him a menu from the Chinese place. “Pick whatever you want my dear, it’s on me,” he smiled, a soft gesture that had Crowley melting in his Doc Martens. Fell was such a sweet man, a man who was always kindhearted to everyone he met. Crowley wondered how someone could be that old and still be so soft. Fell must have seen some of the worst of the world and still remained strong no matter what, and that was true strength in Crowley's eyes. 

Crowley picked out the cheapest item from the menu, hoping to not be a burden on the man. Fell was already helping him work on a murder case, he didn’t want to cause anymore problems for the man. 

Fell called the restaurant on the phone that looked like it was from the 1950’s. Crowley had no idea how it still worked. Through miracles and daydreams, he bet. He spoke casually to the person on the other end like he already knew them personally, reciting the menu like he had memorised it. 

They waited for the food to get to the shop in silence. Crowley started shifting through the stacks of books that surrounded him on the couch, reading the description and the date it was printed. It was incredible; the man had books dating all the way back to the 1600's. Fell watched as he went through them, looking nervous. Crowley thumbed through some more delicate pages, and he could hear the man audibly gasp in fear. It made Crowley secretly smile, laughing at the love Fell had for his books. 

The food eventually got to the door, the delivery man greeting Fell casually, like he knew him. The young boy looked nervous to be in the neighbourhood. Crowley couldn’t blame him; two murders had occurred in two days. Anyone would be terrified to be there. 

Fell handed the young man a large tip, then turned back to Crowley. 

“Are you hungry?” he smiled, holding up the takeout bags. Crowley put down the book he was just looking at and went to help Fell carry them into the backroom. Fell got out some plates while Crowley set out the bins filled with delicious smelling noodles and sauces. Steam was released into the air, and Crowley's stomach rumbled. 

They started eating late at night, the sky going dark outside. It was peaceful, the darkness that surrounded them. Inside the bookshop was cozy and Crowley wasn’t scared. He felt safe with Fell. He had never felt like that with anyone before. 

“So,” Fell asked, spooning some noodles into his mouth. Crowley tried not to follow the movements with his eyes. He knew Fell couldn’t see through the glasses, but he still felt weird about doing it. “What made you come down to Soho?” 

Crowley swallowed his bite before answering. “I want to be a florist and it was far enough away from my parents.” 

Fell chuckled. “A reasonable excuse,” he said. “I’m very sorry for what’s been happening here. I’m sure your business would have flourished, uh, no pun intended.” 

“Yeah.” Crowley sighed, picking at his food. “It was supposed to be a new start y’know. Then all of this happened.” 

It was hard not to feel bitter. This was supposed to be his new life, a way to live his dreams and prove his parents wrong at the same time. But he supposed not everything turned out the way you want them to. He would just have to work around this new problem no matter what. That was why he was working on the case, so everything could be over soon. 

Plus, it just seemed like a fun hobby. 

Fell leaned over and placed his hand over Crowleys. It was warm and heavy on his own, a welcome weight upon his skin. Crowley was glad his eyes were covered so the man wouldn’t be able to see the shock in them. 

“You deserve better Crowley,” Fell whispered. His eyes looked so sincere and caring, as if he truly believed what he was saying. He looked like an angel, kindness ringing through his entire body. “Give this whole thing up. You’re going to get hurt.” 

Crowley pulled his hand away, the skin cooling without the heat of Fells hand. Crowley almost missed it. “I have to do this,” he replied. “Thanks for your concern though.” He smiled boyishly. “You’re like my guardian angel.” 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. These are troubling times.” Fell sighed, his voice tired. He was scared, Crowley realised. This had never happened before. Nobody knew what was coming next. 

“Troubling times lead to clearer minds,” Crowley whispered. He didn’t think Fell heard him. He thought it was better that way. 

The dinner passed by quickly after that, the conversation changing to happier themes. Fell told Crowley about his adventures around the globe, how he had travelled everywhere in search of rare books. 

“I finally settled here,” he said, laughing. There was pride in his eyes. Crowley thought he deserved to feel that way. The bookshop was amazing, the product of decades of work. “I don’t think I can bring myself to leave again. That life is over for me.” 

It was late at night when they finally finished dinner. Fell insisted on walking Crowley back to his own apartment, holding his arm out for Crowley to take like an old-timey gentleman, despite the fact that Crowley's apartment was only a few steps away. It was sweet of him, Crowley thought. He could already feel himself falling deeper.

That was his problem. He fell in love too fast, then got scared and pushed them away. He didn’t want to leave Fell behind. He wanted to wait for this, see what would happen next. 

“You never know what’s hiding in the dark,” he said, leading Crowley to his door. “It was nice to have you over my dear. I would love to have you again.” 

“I had fun too,” Crowley replied, ignoring the double meaning in Fell's words. He doubted Fell even understood the implications in his words. He grabbed the door handle to his shop. “Thanks for all your help today.” 

“It was my pleasure.” 

Crowley smiled. He didn’t want Fell to go, but it was late and he had things to do in the morning. So he waved goodbye, and walked inside his home, going up the stairs to his apartment. Fell waited until he was fully inside before turning away. Crowley watched him go back into his bookshop from the top window, and sighed. He was screwed. 

* * *

Crowley scrolled through the websites on his computer with single minded determination. He was looking for information about the murders that took place. He took turns searching up each name that Fell gave him, starting with Adam Young. He found a small obituary written by the boy's mother with a picture of a curly haired blond kid next to it that Crowley assumed was Adam. He read the words carefully, trying to process them. 

_ Adam was born in 2009 to Deidre and Arthur Young. He was in year five, and was a delightful young boy to have around. He loved playing out in the woods, and was a curious boy of everything around him. He wanted to be a zoologist when he grew up. He was often found playing with his friends around the town. He was found dead on May 13th, 2019 in Soho. He will be missed by many.  _

Crowley read the obituary, feeling a sense of dread fill him. The boy was eleven years old and wanted to be a zoologist when he grew up. Crowley could imagine him running around in the rain, chasing frogs with his friends. It suddenly made everything more real to him. Someone had purposely targeted this kid, someone had killed him with intent to harm. Crowley despised whoever was behind it. He clicked out of the obituary, unable to look at the words any longer. 

There was a small news story on the murder that contained more information. It was written from an outsider's point of view, someone who didn’t really care about the boy himself, but rather the story he could give. It focused rather on the way he died rather than how many people loved Adam. 

It showed a picture of the body, covered in a white sheet. It was illegal to show pictures of a minor's dead body so instead they used a non explicit picture. There was a blurb underneath that said that he was found with three stab wounds and his eyes torn out. Crowley felt sickened; what would anyone do with someone's eyes? 

Crowley sat in disgust for a few seconds staring at the website. He hated anyone who mistreated kids, anyone who thought that since they were young, they would be good targets. Determination filled him more than before. He was suddenly desperate to find the killer, to find who had caused so much pain and fear. He could imagine Adam's fear as someone plunged a knife into his gut, a silent scream on his lips. He wanted revenge on behalf of the boy. 

He moved on to the next name on the list, Anathema Device. Strangely enough, there was nothing on her actual murder. No obituary, no news story. There was only a small thank you Facebook post on the Soho museum website that thanked the Device family for donating Angus Nutters book of prophecies, a book with a long title, ‘The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Angus Nutter, Witch.’ Crowley made a mental note to check that out later, and moved on. 

The next name was Warlock Dowling. Unlike the first two, there were many news stories on the murder. Nothing as personal as Adam’s obituary, but videos and speeches given by the parents on their son's death. The mother, Harriet Dowling, made a speech, dabbing her eyes gently with a cloth. The father, Thaddeus, made a promise in front of thousands of people, declaring that his son’s killer would be found, and his eyes returned. He never would fulfill that promise, and Warlock's body would never have his eyes again. That was a recurring theme, Crowley realised - he was willing to bet that Anathemas eyes were missing too. 

After was Newt Pulisfer, who didn’t have much on him either. Just a small obituary by his grieving mother. Crowley could almost feel her pain. She obviously loved her son very much, her words echoing her pain. He didn’t know what it was like to lose a child, and he never wanted to. These people's pain touched him deep inside. He didn’t know what kind of cold blooded killer he was facing, but he wanted justice. These peoples children were left unavenged and he wanted to help them finally get closure. 

He continued doing his research, searching up every name Fell gave him. They all had one thing in common; the eyes had been torn from their head. Crowley wanted to throw up; what would anyone use them for? 

He turned off the computer after a few hours. He had all he could find written down in his notebook, but he still needed more. He got up and grabbed his large leather jacket and tied his hair back. He was going out. 

* * *

His first stop was the local police station, no matter how much he didn’t want to go. He was hoping to find more information about the second victim, but they refused to give any out. Privacy issues, they said. Crowley expected this, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to try. He walked out of the police station with no new information in his hands. 

His next stop was any junior detectives first mission: the local library. He figured he could find more information from magazines and newspapers than online. Plus, he could look further back in time, looking for the other children who were killed instead of bothering Fell. 

He arrived at the large building and approached the counter, his heavy boots echoing on the marble floor. The librarian pointed him in the direction of old newspaper clippings and Crowley went to find them. Along the way, he picked up some books on the city's history, dating all the way back to the 15th century, thick and heavy, thousands of pages long. He figured they would be useful in his search. 

When he found the newspaper clippings, he settled into a small table near a large window that allowed light to shine into the building. Crowley cracked his knuckles, licked his lips, and began his search. 

Sorting through the newspaper clippings proved to be difficult, but rewarding. The murders never happened on the same day of the year, but rather when the year changed. There was a murder in 1987 on December 29th, then another in 1988 on January 3rd. Six days apart from each other, then there wasn’t one until 1989, August 5th. There was no pattern to the killing, no way to track when the next one would happen. It was seemingly at random. 

Crowley worked for hours, sorting through the clippings until he had a list dating all the way back to 1960. There would be a small story in the newspaper whenever one happened, and to no surprise, the victims eyes had been taken from their skull. The killer was obviously quite old if they were able to go this far back. Crowley was willing to assume it went back in time even further. But it didn’t make sense. 

_ “Maybe it’s a family business,”  _ Crowley thought.  _ “The kids continue what the adults started. No one could do it for this long by themselves. It would take a miracle to pull it off.”  _

He gave up going through the newspapers, instead of looking through the city’s history book. Now that he had the actual dates of the murders, it was easy to flip through and find the information. It proved to be more helpful; back then there were no such laws against child victims, and Crowley found photographs of the actual bodies. It wasn’t as messy as he thought it would be. He assumed their faces would be a bloody mess, but instead it looked like the eyes had just disappeared. The pictures still turned Crowley’s stomach, the lifeless bodies of the children haunting him. 

A sudden gust of wind filled the air and Crowley looked to the side strangely. A woman looked at him apologetically, her arms holding open the large window. 

“I’m sorry, I just thought that since it was such a lovely day outside, we could finally open it,” she said, laughing awkwardly. “I could close it if it bothers you.” 

“It’s fine,” Crowley waved off, turning his gaze back to the book. The woman walked off, her heels clicking on the floor. Crowley hadn’t even heard her approach, he was so lost in his thoughts. 

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, feeling tired and drained. He had done all the research he could in the library. His back hurt from sitting for so long and he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. He rubbed his eyes, preparing to pack up. 

A cool breeze drifted in through the open window, flipping the pages of the history book. Crowley slammed down his hand to stop it, and eventually the window died down. Crowley was about to flip the book shut and go home, when something caught his eye. He went back through the long page hoping to find it again. 

“A girl was found on the street corner missing her eyes,” Crowley read aloud, his voice gravelly from not using it. “Her name was Annabelle Sherring and she died in-” his eyes widened and a chill went down his spine. “-1780.” 

A picture was offered of the girl's body. It was grainy and hard to see, but the girl was clearly missing her eyes, looking like they had just been gently pulled out of her head. There had to be a connection, Crowley knew. But that couldn’t be possible. It was too far back. 

His tiredness forgotten, Crowley continued his search with refound vigour. It took awhile, but he found similar murders in 1781, 1782, 1783, continuing on until 1880, when the murders stopped, then started right back up again in 1920. Crowley squinted at the words, trying to make sense of them, but he couldn’t. Could it be a reenactor, someone interested in recreating the murders that happened centuries ago? Or could it really be someone continuing the family business? Crowley didn’t know, but he knew it was important information. He had to tell someone about it. 

* * *

“Fell,” Crowley yelled, knocking on the door to A.Z. Fell and Co. The door was locked, but Crowley knew he was just doing it to deter customers. Fell was in the shop somewhere, avoiding people. “Open up, I have something important to show you.” 

“Well, you don’t have to make such a racket,” Fell said snottily, opening the door. He glared, his blue eyes flashing, but Crowley was too excited to feel any fear. He pushed past Fell, entering the shop. Inside his arms he held the book of history, clutching it like it was the most important thing in the world. To him it was. 

“I found something you have to see,” Crowley said breathlessly, slamming the book down on the table. Fell visibly winced at the harsh treatment of the book, but Crowley didn’t notice. He flipped through the pages, finding where he had marked the murders. He had used a torn up receipt found in his pockets to mark the pages where the stories were written. 

“There,” he said triumphantly, pointing at the first story he could find. Fell tugged on some reading glasses, which made him look even hotter in Crowley's eyes (which wasn’t something he should be thinking of during a murder investigation), and leaned down. 

“It’s a murder,” Fell stated, looking at Crowley weird. “That’s all. Are you feeling okay my dear?” 

“I’m feeling fine,” Crowley said, pointing to the words  _ missing eyes. _ “See? Her eyes are gone. And look-” he flipped through to the next story, “-it happened again the next year. And the next after that. And the next after that. All the way until 1880 and started again in 1920. Then continuing even now.” He flipped all the way to the year, showing Fell the story. “You see? This had been happening for centuries.” 

“So what do you propose is happening?” 

“I don’t know,” Crowley said, collapsing into the couch, suddenly feeling tired. He had been studying all day and it finally caught up to him. “I was thinking maybe a family business, but that doesn’t explain the large gap between 1880 and 1920. But this is huge! Our first major clue.” 

“Our?” Fell asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Hey, you’re helping me,” Crowley laughed, looking at him through tinted sunglasses. “We would make a good team.” 

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to this.” 

“C’mon please,” Crowley whined. “We just need a few more clues. We’ve discovered something important about these murders. Together we could solve this.” 

“And what do you think you should do after this?” Fell asked, his eyes searching. “You can’t get anything from the police and you’ve found all you could with what is available to you. What is your next move?” 

Crowley thought about it for a few seconds. He really didn’t have a next move. Somehow, he never actually thought you would make it this far. He licked his lips, about to shrug, before he remembered something. 

“We can talk to the victims parents,” he exclaimed. Fell raised both eyebrows in shock, clearly not expecting Crowley to think of anything. Crowley looked at him, a smirk forming at his lips. “Who did you say was training Anathema?” 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they meet some very strange people indeed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this work isnt beta read and im a dumbass so if there is any mistakes, please tell me so i can fix them

“Why hello,” an old woman cooed, opening the door for them. She was dressed in outrageous colours, a sexy pout on her lips. She looked like what Crowley wanted to be like when he grew old. Crowley loved her already. “I assume you saw my ad?” 

They were currently in some rundown apartment in the middle of the city. It was old, and smelled slightly of mothballs and stale coffee. There was a strange stain on the floor and Crowley glared at it distastefully. 

“My dear woman,” Fell said, and Crowley would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt learning he called everyone my dear and he wasn’t anything special, “I’m afraid that we are not here for pleasure.” 

“Azira, you old dog,” the woman laughed, just noticing Fell’s presence. She dropped her sultry pout and threw her arms around the man. Crowley just blinked, trying to process the smooth change. Between personalities. “I haven’t seen you in forever. You haven’t stopped by in so long.” 

“We really must catch up,” Fell chuckled, pulling away from the hug. “I’ve missed our lovely conversations.” 

“So have I,” the woman said, then turned her gaze to Crowley, who was awkwardly standing in the hallway, hoping not to disturb the friend's reunion. “Who is this young man?” Her eyes widened slightly as if she just realised something. “Azira, you didn’t,” she gasped. She sent a smirk towards Fell, who blushed bright red. 

“I don’t know what kind of man you think I am,” he huffed, his cheeks still warm, “but I assure you it’s nothing like what you think. Tracy, this is Crowley, my new next door neighbour. Crowley, this is Madam Tracy.” 

Crowley reached forward offering his hand to her to shake. She instead grabbed his wrist and tugged him forward, enveloping him in a giant hug. Crowley tensed, not liking the physical contact. He never had, even when it was his own parents. 

“A friend to Azira is a friend to me,” Tracy said, pulling away. “Come in, come in.” 

Crowley followed the two of them into the small apartment where Tracy led them to a table. She sat them down, then went to the kitchen to get some tea ready. Crowley could smell the tea leaves from across the kitchen. It must have been strong tea. 

“How is the shop doing?” Tracy called over her shoulder, turning on the kettle. “Still keeping everyone far away from your precious books?” 

“They are savages,” Fell exclaimed, his cheeks flushing red once more. “Forgive me if I don’t want their disgusting hands all over my books.” 

“Still as fussy as ever I see,” Tracy laughed, bringing over a tray of tea. The liquid was steaming, fogging up Crowley's glasses when he picked it up and raised it to his lips. Tracy looked at Crowley, winking. “How do you put up with him?” 

“I don’t,” he muttered, setting down the cup. He felt bad for disrupting what was clearly a joyous reunion between friends, but he needed answers. They weren’t there for pleasure. “We’re not here for a simple get together,” he said. 

Tracy looked down, suddenly serious. She sat down at the table, suddenly looking smaller than before. “I knew that,” she said quietly. “I was hoping it wasn’t true though. Was it too much to hope that Azira just missed me?” 

“We need to know about Anathema,” Crowley said, leaning forward. “I’m looking to solve these murders and I know Anathema worked under you for a manner of time. Can you tell us anything about that?” 

Tracy sighed. “What can I say? She was a brilliant young woman. Destined for amazing things if not for…” she trailed off, remembering the murder. She shook her head, clearing the thoughts away. “Anyway, she never really trained under me. We were equals. She came to the city looking to find something and enlisted my help.” 

“What was she looking for?” 

Tracy looked around. Her eyes caught on Azira, looking pensive. “I refused to talk to any police officer when they came knocking,” she eventually said, her voice contemplative. She crossed her legs underneath the table. “We were working on something they wouldn’t be able to understand. But if Azira trusts you, then I do too.” 

Crowley got out his pad and pen, flicking open to a new page. Tracy watched him, only opening her mouth when he was ready. Fell sipped his drink from beside Crowley, looking upset. 

“She was an occultist and descendant,” Tracy began. “Do not ask me what the second one means exactly, but it mattered to her. She moved to Tadfield for a few months, then came to the city in search of something important.” Her voice dropped down to a whisper. “She was in search of a deity. She came to my door one day and asked for my help, and really, who was I to deny her? 

“We worked together for many weeks, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the deity. I am a fortune teller you see, and she could see the future. We were a perfect team. Then one day-” Tracy stopped and wiped her eyes with a tissue, which had grown damp during the story. “She left and didn’t come back. I learned about her death from the news.” 

“That’s horrible,” Crowley said softly. It really would; watching the evening news, a routine at this point, and recognising a face on the screen would be a different kind of pain. 

“The funny thing is,” Tracy continued, “I think she knew she was going to die. She left me a letter on my desk, giving me certain instructions. For years her family had protected a book, ‘The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Angus Nutter, Witch.’” Crowley looked up, recognising the name. It was the book that was donated to the museum in honour of Anathema. He furrowed his brow, tucking that information away for later. “She asked me to bring it to the museum.” 

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” 

“No,” Tracy said. “I only knew her for a few weeks. But when she died…” she stopped and wrapped her arms around herself, like she was protecting her body. “Something else died with her. She wasn’t some random victim. She was meant to do something important. What, I do not know. Promise me you’ll solve this,” she begged. 

“We will,” Crowley said solemnly. “Thank you for your time.” He stood up slowly. “This was incredibly helpful.” He handed Tracy another tissue, then gestured for Fell to follow him. Fell wrapped his arms around Tracy, whispered sorry in her ear, then followed Crowley out the door. 

They walked out of the apartment, leaving Tracy behind, walking down onto the sidewalk where they stopped. The streets were busy, car beeping and growling. People streamed around them, rushing to their destination, not paying attention to anything else. 

“Well then,” Fell huffed, crossing his arms, looking even more upset. “You certainly terrified her enough. Have you got what you need?” 

“I did,” Crowley said. 

“Then where do we go next? Do we go terrorise another family? That poor woman….” he looked regretfully in the direction of Tracy’s apartment, fidgeting slightly. He clearly felt some sort of remorse for the woman. Crowley felt nothing. 

“We’ll talk to Deidre and Arthur later,” Crowley said, starting to walk away. Fell followed, watching him apprehensively. “For now I have something else in mind.” 

“What is it?” 

Crowley smiled roguishly at Fell and Fell visibly shuddered. “How do you feel about breaking into a museum?” 

* * *

Crowley’s pride and joy, besides his new flower shop (and even that was quickly dwindling. Not being able to open was really screwing everything up), was his Bentley. It was the 1926 model, and it was his pride and joy. He had inherited it from his father, who had inherited it from his father, who had inherited it from his father, continuing until 1926. Crowley took care of it like it was his own child. He constantly oiled it, waxed it, cleaned it, did everything he could to keep it in perfect shape. 

Crowley and Fell were currently sitting in this car, a few feet away from the Soho museum. It was late at night, and no one was around except them. 

“This is a bad idea,” Fell whispered, like he was afraid of speaking too loudly. He spoke as if the entire world was listening in to their conversation, like he was worried about other ears and eyes looking in. 

“We’ve been planning this for three day,” Crowley said loudly. He had no such qualms about speaking quietly. This statement, however, was true. 

After Fell’s initial shock and outrage at the idea, he had reluctantly agreed to the idea. They spent three days in Fell’s shop planning the break in. It would be quite simple. They weren’t looking to steal anything, so they didn’t have to worry about setting something off in the building. All Crowley had to do was pick the lock of the back door and sneak inside. Once he was in, he would take pictures of the pages and sneak right back out. The night guard took a small break at 2:00 to 2:30 am, and Crowley would have a half an hour window to get what he needed without interference. 

“The only issue is the cameras,” he had said, pacing in front of Fell. He had been moving constantly since they had arrived back at the bookshop, and Fell was getting tired of having to follow his movements with his head. 

“I can deal with that,” Fell said, raising his hand. 

Crowley wordlessly lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“I can,” Fell huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m much more technologically advanced than you think. Trust me.” 

Crowley had been quite startled to realise that he did trust the man. It was an icy cold revelation and Crowley sometimes wondered how this man had gotten to him so quickly. But for some impossible reason, Crowley completely trusted him. So Crowley reluctantly allowed him to work the cameras while Crowley did the rest. They planned every detail over the rest of the three days. They needed to be perfect. There couldn't be any mistakes. Their plan was pretty ingenious, if Crowley did say so himself. 

However, it seemed like Fell was having second thoughts. Crowley expected that from him. 

“It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been planning this,” Fell said, “if you get caught, it’s over for the both of us.” 

“We have to do this,” Crowley replied, turning his body towards Fell. “We have come too far to stop now. Those kids need us. If the police aren’t giving them closure, then we will.” 

“Do we even need this book?” Fell asked, sounding sceptical. “It’s just a book. That prophecy stuff Madam Tracy was talking about is all bogus. I thought you believed in science.” 

“I believe in science,” Crowley replied, checking to see if his hair was in place. “I also believe in magic. Trolls and fairies don’t explain how the world spins around everyday, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. They can coexist together. Come on Fell, don’t give up now. Something was after Anathema, whether it was supernatural or not is yet to be discovered.” 

The car was silent for a few seconds. It was much more stifling than normal, almost like it was pushing down on Crowley's lungs. It felt like it was slowly suffocating him from the inside. 

“If I am to do this,” Fell began, his voice resigned. “Then I must ask for a favour first.” 

“Anything,” Crowley said mindlessly, too focused on preparing for the job. 

“Can I see your eyes?” 

Crowley stopped and licked his lips nervously. The request shocked him. He had only shown his eyes to a very small amount of people. They were strange, he knew. They freaked people out, and he had figured out pretty quickly that it was easier to go through life covering them up. People would judge you less harshly for sunglasses than snake eyes. 

“Why do you want to see them?” 

“Eyes are windows to a person's soul,” Fell said. “If I am to trust you fully, I must know what they look like.” 

Crowley considered it for a few seconds. He really didn’t want Fell to hate him. He didn’t want Fell to look at him with disgust. But he wanted justice for those kids more. So he slowly reached up and pulled his sunglasses off, setting then down gently in his lap. He blinked slightly, eyes getting used to the difference in light. He hesitantly looked up, revealing his eyes fully to the man next to him. His heart pounded in his chest and his palms were sweaty. 

Fell was quiet, gazing at him in wonder. His eyes were wide, but they weren’t filled with disgust, rather with interest. Crowley didn’t know what to make of it. 

“They’re beautiful,” he breathed, his voice full of admiration. “They look like pure gold.” 

“That’s funny,” Crowley muttered, hastily throwing his glasses back on now that Fell had seen them. His cheeks were bright red and he was glad it was dark out so Fell didn't see how bad he was blushing. “They’re usually compared to piss.” 

“I don’t understand why,” Fell said, smiling wide. Crowley had never met someone like him; someone who didn’t hate Crowley for his demon eyes. “They’re magnificent.” 

“Let’s just do this,” Crowley begged, hoping to change the subject away from himself. “We don’t have much time.” 

“Of course,” Fell replied, pulling out a small computer. He opened it, green light filling the car. His eyes looked turquoise in the light. “Let’s do this.” He looked determined now, ready to complete their plan. That was what Crowley needed. 

“Text me when I can go in,” Crowley said, getting out of the car. He was dressed in all black, which wasn’t that unusual for him, and he practically blended into the background. He went to shut the car door, but Fell stopped him. 

“Be careful,” he begged, looking up at Crowley. He looked so worried for him and Crowley could feel himself almost melt under Fells light. He really was like a guardian angel. “And when this is done, I hope I can see your eyes again.” 

Crowley couldn’t give him a proper answer, so he just nodded, then shut the car door. He ran across the street and into the alleyway beside the museum. He huddled behind the dumpster and waited for the text from Fell that told him he could move. The night air was cold and he shivered slightly, wishing he was back in the warm car. 

He suddenly realised he didn’t know how Fell was going to freeze the cameras. But it was true what he said earlier; he trusted Fell, more than he probably should. So he waited quietly, trusting Fell with his whole soul. 

He waited for a few minutes, then his phone buzzed. He checked it and smiled. It was 2:00 am and the cameras were shut off. He slowly stood up, then dashed through the alleyway. There was a wooden door at the end of it that would lead into the museum's storage room. Fell had only known it existed because he frequently bought old books from them. 

Crowley took out a metal wire, then started picking the lock. He learned how to from his older cousin Hastur, who was an asshole, but a useful asshole. He taught Crowley a number of things that he found came in handy. 

Within a few minutes, he was in. The door swung open and he slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. He turned on a dim flashlight, then started moving around, looking for a way out. 

The room was full of rejected exhibits and large boxes containing expensive paintings. Statues deemed too creepy for the public loomed over Crowley, making him shiver and walk faster. The eyes seemed to watch him as he walked through, go towards the door at the other end of the room. Crowley couldn’t get to the other end fast enough. 

Once he was inside the museum it was better. The museum was large and empty, making it easier for Crowley to move around. The large windows on the ceilings allowed light to stream through, illuminating the exhibits. He almost didn’t need the flashlight to see. 

He walked carefully through the building, looking for the old book section. According to Fell it was on the west side so that was where he went. The building was silent, his footsteps echoing through the room. It was peaceful inside there, he decided. He didn’t have an awful feeling in his gut that told him something was going to go wrong. 

Eventually he made it to the west end where a small cabinet sat, filled with old books, displaying their more delicate pages. Beside it were raised displays where newer books lay that didn’t need to be protected. Crowley ran his flashlight over them until he got to the one he was looking for. He gently stepped over the red string blocking the public from touching it, and approached the book of prophecies. 

It was a well worn book, filled with crayon scribbles and spills that were unidentifiable. Crowley could practically taste the power it extruded. He slowly turned the first page, the motion made all the more difficult by the thick glove he wore to hide his fingerprints. Somehow he managed. 

He took a deep breath, feeling pressure build in him. They were so close. He couldn’t screw up now. 

He started moving through the book, not looking for a certain date. He was instead looking for anything in regards to Anathemas murder, or anything beyond that. Something that would give a clue on why she was the one chosen to be killed. Tracy was right; the murders weren’t random, they were planned. There was a connection, he just needed to find. 

He flipped to page 456, then directly to page 461 right after. There was nothing between them. The pages were torn out, the edges rough and rushed. Crowley’s eyes narrowed. Someone had been there first. 

Crowley brushed his fingers over the edges. Why would someone tear the pages out, unless they were hiding something? It must have been something important, Crowley realised. Something they wanted to hide. If he could find those pages, there would be some kind of clue. He took a picture of the torn pages, hoping to see the prophecies underneath. They could come in handy later. 

Footsteps filled the room, and Crowley startled. It must have passed 2:30 am while he was looking at the book, and he mentally cursed himself for forgetting the time. Fell hadn’t specified when he was turning the cameras back on, but Crowley knew it would be soon. He should have been more careful. 

He pressed his body against the cabinet containing the older books and prayed the night guard wouldn’t notice him. A bright light filled the hallway as the guard walked through, whistling a joyful tune. Crowley held his breath and hoped. 

The guard walked right past him, the light disappearing into a different hallway. Crowley relaxed, then quickly ran the other way. He tried to keep his footsteps as light as possible as he ran back towards the storage area. 

He emerged from the museum and ran towards the car as fast as he could. Fell was waiting for him in the car, the computer a bright light in the dark. As soon as he entered, Fell pressed a button on the screen. Crowley assumed it was to unfreeze the cameras. They wouldn’t want them to be frozen for too long, lest the guard realised something was amiss when he walked past the same place twice but it wasn’t showing on the video. 

Fell gave him a small smile as he entered. Crowley gave one back and held up the camera triumphantly. Fell gave a little cheer, clapping his hands together, a motion that looked adorable. 

“Lets go Azira,” Crowley said, turning the car back on. They drove off into the night, feeling invincible. 

* * *

They were inside of Fell’s bookshop, celebrating their success at the museum. Fell brought out some champagne and was pouring some into Crowley's glass, the bubbly liquid smelling sweet. The bookshop was warm and cozy, and they were drunk on success and victory. Crowley was happier than he had been in a long time. His glasses were off, thrown somewhere in the shop in a moment of desperate impulse, and he didn't miss them at all. Fell didn’t care about his eyes and Crowley tried not to either. 

“I can’t believe we did that,” Fell said, his voice filled with awe and giddy drunkenness. He was sitting across from Crowley, filled with childish excitement at their success. “That was incredible.” 

“I told you,” Crowley said, trying not to be so smug. He raised his glass in Fell’s direction, a toast to victory. “We had nothing to worry about.” 

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Fell laughed, taking a sip of his drink. He collapsed on the couch, looking more looser and at ease than Crowley had ever seen him. Fell was usually so uptight and proper. It felt like an honour to see him like this, comfortable in his own skin. 

“Stick with me angel,” Crowley drawled, sprawling his body across the couch so he was laying down. “I’ll teach you a thing or two.” 

The bookshop was silent, the casual mood forgotten in the blink of an eye. Crowley wasn’t thinking straight, too drunk on victory and alcohol, but he was still sober enough to recognise when he messed up. He threw his arm over his face, trying to hide his blushing cheeks. He had just called Fell angel, what the man must think of him now. 

“Angel?” Fell hesitantly asked. “Why angel?” 

“I mean, you’re looking out for me,” Crowley desperately explained, still not looking at him. His stomach was full of dread and embarrassment. “You’ve been helping me, guiding me. It’s hard not to think you’re an angel on Earth.”

“I like that,” Fell said softly, and finally Crowley looked at him. The man looked lost in thought, a gentle smile tugging on his lips. “And if I’m the angel, you’re the devil leading me to sin.” 

_ “And I will gladly follow you into the depths of hell,”  _ was left unsaid between them, but it echoed through the room, ringing in Crowley's ear like a persistent bug. He wondered if it was him thinking it or someone else. 

“Sin is just another word for fun,” Crowley replied, feeling relief fill him. Fell hadn’t been disgusted by the name. He wondered if that was permission to call him that more often. “I pity the poor fools in the Catholic church.” 

“I will keep them in my prayers,” Fell joked, placing his cup down. Crowley took a deep breath, feeling himself fill with warmth and happiness. He was joking around with Fell, he realised, the man who seemed like he would rather spend his days shut up in his bookstore like a hermit. Crowley was glad he was one of the only ones Fell would make an exception for. 

“So what do you want to do now?” 

“Well,” Fell murmured, smiling wide. “I was rather hoping you would like to meet in the park tomorrow for lunch. My treat of course.” 

Crowley stared at him. “I meant in the investigation angel.” 

“Oh,” Fell said, face turning red. “My apologies.” 

Crowley could feel himself screaming inside his head, begging him to take the offer. It wasn't everyday someone like Fell was interested in Crowley. It never happened, and Crowley had been crushing on the man since he first met him. He would be a fool not to take the offer when it was dangling right in front of him. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” he whispered. The shadows in the room danced around them, the candles on the table glowing orange. He snuck a quick look at the man in front of him and almost gasped. 

Fell almost seemed to be glowing with happiness, his smile filled the air with warmth. It was a beautiful sight, and Crowley wondered why someone like Fell would want him. Fell seemed perfect in every way, and Crowley was just himself, the punk who wanted to sell flowers, and who cared too much about kids that he never met. 

“Shall we say noon at St James’ Park?” 

* * *

Crowley walked towards St James Park, feeling himself grow more giddy every step he took. He wasn’t quite sure if it was a date, but it was feeling more like one the closer he got. He didn’t want to ask Fell about it though. He figured it would be awkward, so instead he would just enjoy the day spent with the man. 

He still couldn’t believe that Fell had asked him to meet up outside of their investigation. It seemed that they were just partners, but maybe they could be friends. And then after, well, maybe something more. Crowley had never had a serious relationship in his life, but he wanted to try with Fell. Fell made him feel safe and comforted, like he was protected in the world. Fell was exactly what he always wanted in a partner. 

A sudden jolt disrupted him from his thoughts. Someone had bumped into him, sending Crowley to the side. He didn't fall down, but it was a close thing, and Crowley whirled around, intent on yelling at the person that hit him. 

“Watch where you’re going,” he called after the mans retreating back. The man turned around, looking out of place in the crowd with his beige suit and muscular frame, looking directly at Crowley. His eyes, however, were the strangest thing about him. They were a bright lilac colour, and something in Crowley told him that they weren’t contacts. They were natural, much like Crowley’s own. 

“Ah, just the man I was looking for,” the man said, his voice chipper, walking back over. He sounded like a radio announcer, like everything that was happening was nothing more than a simulation to him. He wore a blinding smile that looked like plastic on his perfect face. “Anthony J Crowley right?” 

“Yes I am,” Crowley said suspiciously. The man didn’t hold out his hand for Crowley to take, so neither did Crowley. They instead stood still, facing each other in the middle of the path. 

“You’re the one doing the investigating, correct?” The man was still smiling, his teeth perfect. There didn’t appear to be a single flaw on the man's body, not a single wrinkle in his skin. “That’s so noble, just the type of thing I would normally love.” 

Crowley briefly wondered how the man knew he was doing some investigating, then remembered he had gone to the police station to ask. He supposed word got around quick in Soho, but it was still creepy that he knew. What would the man want with him? The man in front of him didn't have any use for that information. So why was he here? 

“Anyway, I just wanted to ask you politely if you could stop,” the man continued, his smile widening. “This type of thing, well, it really isn’t in your best interest to continue. So just do yourself a favour and give up.” 

Crowley looked him up and down and backed up a few steps. They were in public, so nothing bad could happen to him, but the man was still unnerving. There was something about him, something that Crowley couldn’t quite place, but he didn’t trust this man. The man was cold and he spoke like he was reciting a script written by someone who didn’t quite understand how humans worked. 

“Fuck no,” he spat. 

“I can give you money,” the man offered, his smile not wavering for a second. “You would like money right? You love that type of thing right? Name a price, any price, and I can pay it. Whatever you want.” He spoke like a salesman trying to sell an item that was useless, but if he could twist his words just right, enough people would buy it. Not Crowley though. 

“I don’t know who you are,” he said, “but I don’t want anything from you. Now piss off before I call the cops.” 

For the first time since they started talking, the man's smile dropped. Crowley couldn’t believe how terrifying he looked without his perfect smile. He glared, standing up straight so he could tower over Crowley. Crowley was used to being the tallest person in the room, standing at 6’0, but this man was a good few inches taller than him. It bothered Crowley more than it should. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said slowly, then left, spinning on his heel and walking away. Crowley watched him go, the man's body slowly blending into the crowd. 

_ “Y’know,”  _ he thought to himself,  _ “I think we have our first real suspect.”  _


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go see some more people and then stuff happens.

“Who is he exactly?” Crowley asked, sitting inside of Fell’s bookshop. They had met up at the park and Crowley had told him what happened before he came. The incident with the man with purple eyes had freaked Crowley out, but they had their first real suspect. Why else would the man tell him to stay away if he wasn’t trying to hide something? 

Fell handed him a steaming cup of peppermint tea, then sat down across from him, blowing on his own drink to cool it down. 

“You said he had lilac eyes?” His eyes were narrowed, as if he was contemplating something very important. His eyes were darker than they usually were, or maybe it was just the shadows, but Crowley shivered slightly under the gaze. 

Crowley nodded. “The very colour of the flowers themselves.” 

“I only know of a man like that, but I’ve never met him myself,” Fell explained, setting down his cup on the table on a small coaster. “His name is Gabriel, nobody knows his real last name. He is a big businessman in London. I believe he owns some company, though I cannot tell you what it’s called.” 

“What would he be doing down here then? He has to be the killer.” 

“Now lets not jump to conclusions my dear,” Fell said. “We don’t know the full story.” 

Crowley leaned back, crossing his arms. “Why else would he tell me to stay away? He is hiding something.” 

“Everyone is,” Fell replied smoothly “We can investigate him later if you are so sure he is involved. For now, we have other plans.” 

Crowley wrinkled his nose at the man. He knew Gabriel was involved somehow. Even if he wasn’t the killer, he knew something important about the case. But Fell was right. They had other plans for that evening. Plans that required a bit of driving. 

* * *

The trip to Tadfield was peaceful. Crowley turned down his music slightly when it became apparent Fell wasn’t enjoying it as much as Crowley, and the car radio let out a soft melody. Crowley couldn’t understand it; he had never met anyone who didn’t like Queen. But he supposed everyone must have their flaws. 

The road slowly changed the further they travelled. The grass got greener, the trees thicker, the sky bluer. Everything changed into picture perfect scenery, and Crowley couldn’t help but look around in awe. Fell continued looking straight ahead, trying not to puke. Crowley didn’t think his driving wasn’t  _ that  _ bad, but Fell disagreed. 

It was 4 o’clock in the afternoon when they finally arrived in Tadfield. It was a cute picturesque town, with old brick roads and flower pots decorating the shops. It looked like a tourist attraction, but there was nobody around except an old man who introduced himself as Ronald P. Tyler. He pointed them in the direction of the Young residence, shaking his head at Crowley's reckless driving. 

They travelled a few minutes out of town on a dirt road that made Crowley cringe whenever they hit a particularly bumpy spot. He hoped the Bentley would be alright on the rocky road. 

The house they arrived at was small, but comfortable. There was a large field beyond it that must have been perfect for Adam to run and play around in with his friends. Crowley was once again hit with a wave of disgust and pity for Adam. He wanted revenge on behalf of the kids now more than ever.

The two walked up to the house and knocked on the door, waiting for someone to open it. After a few seconds someone unlocked the door and opened it slowly. A woman with short blonde hair emerged from the house, her eyes rimmed with red. Her face looked scratchy, like salty tears had dried her skin out. Her eyes widened when she saw them on her deck. 

“Hello miss,” Fell said, holding out a hand for her to shake. The woman, Deidre Young Crowley presumed, shook it slowly, looking shocked they were there. “We are here to ask you a few questions if that’s alright?” 

“Are they about Adam?” she asked softy, her voice strained, like she hadn’t spoken in a long time. Crowley felt pity for her. He didn’t know what it was like to lose a child. From the looks of it, it hurt quite a bit. 

Fell smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid so.” 

“Are you investigators?” 

“Yes we are,” Crowley interrupted before Fell could tell the truth. He could feel Fells accusing glare on him, but he ignored it. “We just need a few minutes of your time.” 

Deidre regarded them for a few seconds, then moved so they could come inside. Crowley and Fell entered the house, wiping their shoes on the mat. 

The beige walls were lined with pictures of the family. Crowley recognised the boy, Adam, in the picture frames. There was a school portrait and a family portrait, and baby pictures and more. They were hung up lovingly, like a memorial for a son. Crowley had to tear his gaze away from them in order to keep moving through the house. 

Deidre led them into the living room. There were magazines on the coffee table that were about animals that Crowley knew used to belong to Adam. 

Deidre sat them down on the small couch, then sat across from them in a different seat “Arthur, come here,” she called into the house. “We have guests. It’s about Adam.” 

It took a few minutes, but eventually a man came down from the stairs. He looked gloomy, like he had just been deep in thought. He looked at Crowley and Fell with dead eyes, before joining his wife on the couch. 

“More questions?” he asked his wife, his voice dull. 

“I’m afraid so,” she whispered. She turned to the two men and tried to smile, but it just looked like a grimace. “I’m sorry, we haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Deirdre and this is my husband Arthur.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Fell said. He kept smiling softly. A comforting aura extruded from him, seeming to calm everyone down in the room. He was good at that, elevating tension. “I’m Azira Fell, and this is my partner Anthony J. Crowley.” 

Deidre nodded in acknowledgement to them both. “Do you have any more information about my son?” 

Crowley and Fell looked at each other. They didn’t have anything else to tell them. They were here on a lie, nothing more. Crowley almost felt bad; he wished he could take away the family's pain. 

“We do not,” Crowley said, feeling his heart break slightly when Deidres face fell. “We have some questions though, if you’re up for answering them.”

“Of course, what do you need?” 

Crowley took a deep breath, trying to pick the question that made the most sense. Thousands spun around in his head, but he could only ask a few. He had to choose wisely between them. 

“First, what were you doing in London?” 

“My mother lives there and we have been taking care of her for the last few months,” Deidre explained, looking at her hands. It was like she was trying to remain strong in front of the two strangers in her house. Crowley didn’t know how to tell her she didn’t have to; she had just lost a son, she was allowed to be as upset as she wanted. “Adam usually stayed behind with one of his friends, but he insisted on going this time.” 

“Did you notice any odd behaviour from him?” Crowley asked. 

“Yes actually,” Arthur interrupted, leaning forward in his seat. He looked more animated now, like he was remembering something important. “He kept insisting that he was looking for something in the city. Though I blame it on that girl.” 

“What girl?” Crowley asked, confused. 

“Dear, her name is Anathema,” Deidre muttered, as if she was offended on Anathema's behalf. She looked back to Crowley. “She was a new neighbour a year ago. Adam took a liking to her and she gave him a bunch of lessons.” She pointed to the magazines on the table, boasting stories like  _ The Ice Caps are Melting!!!  _ and  _ Nuclear Power Waste.  _ “Those were from her.” 

Crowley looked at Fell, who shrugged. So there was a connection between Adam and Anathema. That was a new development that might even explain why they were both targeted. 

“She was a sweet girl, just a little odd,” Deidre continued. 

“A little odd? That girl was insane,” Arthur exclaimed. “She kept telling him all sorts of stories about angels and demons and prophecies. While it’s natural for kids to have an overactive imagination, she was a grown woman. I was quite pleased when she left.” 

“Arthur, we’ve been over this,” Deidre said tensely. “Nothing what Anathema told him was any bad, you’re just blowing things out of proportion.” 

“I am not-” 

“What about any strange people?” Crowley asked, stopping their argument. “Did you notice any strange or odd people around him before he died?” They both look at him apologetically, before thinking. 

“Not that I know of,” Deidre answered. “It was a fairly normal visit. We stayed with my mother, and we spent the day helping her while Adam ran off to some shop he loved in the city. But he always went there when he came with us, so he didn’t think anything of it. Next thing we know, some policemen are knocking on my mother's door, asking us if that’s our son in the photograph.” Her voice was strangled, and she placed a hand over her mouth, breathing heavy. Her husband rubbed her back softly, whispering sentences in her ear that Crowley couldn’t hear. He sat in awkward silence for a few seconds, watching as Deidre tried to catch her breath again. 

“I’m fine,” she said after a few seconds, her voice still trembling. “Is there anything else you need?” 

“Yes,” Crowley said. “Do you know about a man named Gabriel?” 

“Of course,” Arthur answered. “He was the one to take care of us when we first got the news. He even offered to pay for Adams funeral, and for therapy if we wanted some in the future.” 

Crowley's eyes widened slightly. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. There was no reason for the killer to help the family recover, so why was Gabriel there for them? Unless Crowley was wrong and Gabriel wasn’t the murderer. But that didn’t explain why he was at the park. And if Gabriel wasn’t the killer, they had just lost their first major suspect, sending them back to square one. 

There were a million questions Crowley still wanted to ask, but instead he said, “That will be all. Thank you for your time.”

“Please solve this,” Deidre begged, standing up. “They told us everything, how my son was just another number in a long line of murders, but please,” she cried, “find who did this.” 

“Of course we will,” Crowley said, not believing it himself. He had made that promise to so many people, including himself, but now he wasn’t so sure if he could fulfill it. He stood up, Fell following him. Deidre led them to the door, waving goodbye as they left the house back to the car.

Crowley wordlessly got into the car, starting it up again. Questions flew through his mind, faster than he could answer them. There were connections there, knots that needed to be tied, but Crowley didn’t understand anything. There was still one piece missing from the puzzle and he knew that if he could just find the missing pages from the book, everything would fit into place. But he didn’t know where they were. He didn’t even know if they still existed in the world or if they had been destroyed. 

He drove until they entered the town again, passing Mr. Tyler. The man continued to glare at them as they passed by, but Crowley didn’t acknowledge him. He pulled into a small empty parking lot, and shut off the car. 

“Crowley, are you alright?” Fell asked softly as Crowley laid his head on the steering wheel. He suddenly felt tired, like the weight of the world was on his back. His shoulders were aching. 

“No angel,” he choked out. “We hit a dead end. There is nothing else we can do. We can’t finish this.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Fell asked softly. “You worked so hard Crowley and I know you’re close, but what if Gabriel was right? What if you get hurt?” 

“This isn’t about me though,” Crowley said, turning his head to look up at Fell. The sun was setting behind him and shined through the window, turning Fells blonde curls golden. He truly looked ethereal at the moment, like a real angel. “Not anymore. I have dues to pay that I can’t, and I won’t be able to keep the shop open and these kids will never have closure.” He could feel tears prickle at his eyes, but they didn’t fall. He hated crying. “Adam wanted to be a zoologist y’know,” he said softly. “And Anathema didn’t have anything on her because no one cared, and Newt has a mother who misses him, and there are hundreds of others who died scared.” 

“I’m sorry,” Fell whispered. “You deserve better. So do they.” 

“I deserve nothing,” Crowley spat. “I can’t even do this one thing for them.” 

Fell licked his lips slowly. “Maybe tomorrow something will pop up,” he eventually said. “Or maybe the next day. Or it could take months. But you will solve this Crowley. I know you will.” 

“Let’s just go angel,” Crowley muttered, sitting back up. He put the car back into drive and slowly pulled out of the parking lot. He ignored Fell's worried look and instead focused on going home. 

* * *

Crowley sat in bed, staring at the ceiling lost in thought. Everything was going wrong so quickly; they had no more leads on the murders, he was slowly sinking into more debt, and tomorrow everything would be shut off. He would have no more power, no more water, and eventually, no more shop. And worst of all, he had failed the kids. He couldn’t get them vengeance like he promised. All he could do was wait for the inevitable blackout, and the moment he finally decided to crawl back to his parents in Manchester, which was starting to look a lot sooner than he wanted. 

The numbers kept moving on the clock, only a few seconds away from when his payments would be due. He hated this feeling of powerlessness and lack of control. He hated owing people in general. 

_ “Just sitting in my bed waiting for my stuff to shut off,”  _ he thought bitterly.  _ “You’ve hit a new low Crowley.”  _

The clock ticked forward and he closed his eyes, waiting for everything to shut down and for him to be left in darkness. He wanted to cry, but refused to. He didn’t like crying; it made his face all blotchy, and it made him feel weak. 

The clock kept ticking, on and on and on. Nothing happened. Crowley hesitantly opened one eye. 

He waited a few more minutes, then sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist. He grabbed his phone, wondering what was going on. Everything should have been shut down. He clicked on his emails, then scrolled through, looking for the message from the electric and gas company. What he found was so much worse. 

“Dearest Crowley,” he read aloud, blushing involuntarily at the pet name. “I’m sorry to do this without your permission, but I couldn’t bear to see your shop taken away because of instances outside of your control. I hope you’ll forgive me. Sincerely, Azira Fell.” 

Underneath it was an email from the company, thanking him for his payments. 

“ _ That bastard, _ ” Crowley thought, collapsing back down in his bed. He must have paid off Crowley's dues, but how? Crowley didn’t even know Fell knew how to use email. Apparently there were a lot of things Crowley didn’t know about the man. He had ways of getting what he wanted, Crowley realised. 

He was angry, sure, but he was also impressed. At least instead of owing some giant company, he just owed his new friend. It wasn't as bad as it seemed. He would confront Fell about it tomorrow. For now, he was going to sleep, feeling secure. 

* * *

Crowley walked down in the morning to his shop, preparing himself to face Fell. He didn’t know what he was going to say to the man. He didn’t know what he could, or what was allowed. Fell had just paid off everything he owed without Crowley noticing, and Crowley was going to complain about it? Yes he was, because Crowley had pride. 

He opened the door, stepping into the cool morning air. It was chilly, and he shivered slightly. He shut the door behind, and went to take a step, his feet catching on something by his doorstep. Crowley slammed out a hand to catch himself, holding himself up on the door handle, his weight supported by a tiny piece of wood. He took a deep breath, then stood up again, brushing himself off. He was grateful no one was around to see it. 

He looked down, wondering what he almost tripped over. There was an envelope at his feet, his name written in flowy script reminiscent of the 1700’s. He picked up gently, heading back into his apartment to check it out. He could scream at Fell later. They had lots of time. 

He opened the envelope on the counter, spilling the content out, the thin pieces of paper fluttering down. There were three photographs inside. They were black and white, and looked like a thin film of dust was over them. It was nearly impossible to make out who was in them, but Crowley managed. He had seen that face on the walls after all. 

Adam Young was in two of the photographs. The first was of him walking down the street, hands in his pockets. The angle was strange, almost like it was taken above the streets on top of the buildings. Crowley wondered who took them, who was watching Adam that night. It took a little searching, but eventually Crowley found it; a shadow in the corner that was undeniably a human form by the left bottom corner. Someone was following the boy. 

The second photo looked like it was taken a few seconds after the last one. Adam was a few steps away from where he was before. The shadow was almost in full view, the killer so close to their victim. It was like watching an impending doom with no way of stopping it; Crowley wanted to scream out to the boy in the photograph, but no one would hear him. He couldn’t do a thing. 

The third photo was different. Crowley assumed it was taken right after as well, but the entire picture was white. There was nothing in it, no boy, no killer. Nothing. 

Crowley set down the photographs, feeling a sense of dread settle in his stomach. Someone had sent them to him; someone had known where he lived and what he was searching for. Someone was baiting him. 

That's when Crowley realised something important. Fingerprints. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope y'all enjoy this chapter!!

“You mean someone sent you pictures?” Fell asked skeptically, taking a bite of his meal, the restaurant's signature Parmesan chicken. Crowley traced the movement with his eyes. Fell ate like he was in love with the plate, like it was the greatest thing in the world. It was a marvellous thing to witness. 

They were in the Ritz, an expensive restaurant Crowley never thought he would be eating at. But Fell called and asked if he wanted to join him for lunch, and Crowley couldn’t turn him down. Their first almost-date had been ruined by Gabriel. Crowley wanted a redo, even if he did think the restaurant was too expensive for a simple lunch. 

“I'm serious, angel,” Crowley scoffed. There was nothing on his plate to eat; he refused to have Fell pay for anything else of his until Crowley paid him back for the house. “I took pictures of them on my phone before sending them in. I’ll show you later if you want to see them. I should get the results in a couple days.” 

“And you think the person who sent them to you is the killer?” 

“Who else would it be?” Crowley asked. “Either that, or they know something. They probably have pictures of the actual murder too, and they aren’t showing it.” 

Fell simply hummed, shoving more food into his mouth. He looked so happy when he was eating, like each bite was more delectable than the last. 

“By the way,” Crowley started, Fell not looking at him, instead focusing on the food, “care to tell me why all my payments are gone?” His voice was strained, false happiness ringing through his words. 

Fell stopped eating and furrowed his eyebrows. “You didn’t get the email?” 

“Yes I got the email angel,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t have to do that y’know. Now I owe you money.” 

“You don’t owe me anything,” Fell smiled. “Think of it as a thank you for being my companion for these few days. It gets very lonely, and it was nice to spend time with you. Plus, your store is going to be a hit when they finally allow you to reopen.” 

Crowley stopped and thought for a second. “So like a sugar daddy?” 

Fell started coughing, his face turning red, clearly not expecting that. Crowley smirked slightly; teasing Fell was easier than he thought. 

“Most certainly not like that,” Fell said when he regained his breath, his face still comically red. “You’re more to me than that!” 

“Don’t worry, I was just kidding,” Crowley laughed. Fell huffed, crossing his arms. He pointedly didn’t look at Crowley, and Crowley felt a little bad for the joke. “I like spending time with you too. You’re fun to be around.” 

“Really?” Fell asked, looking surprised. “I’ve been told I’m quite boring. No one wants to hang around an old fussy bookseller.” He looked sad when he said that, and Crowley wanted to fight someone,, more particularly the people who made Fell feel like that. He didn’t know how anyone would hate being around Fell. When Crowley was with Fell, he felt safe. 

“They’re wrong,” Crowley said firmly, reaching over and grabbing Fells hand. Fell looked shocked, his eyes wide. “You’re loads of fun, angel. Who else would break into a museum with me?” 

“Thank you my dear,” Fell smiled, his eyes filled with happiness. “I’m glad I met you.” His eyes were filled with sincerity and kindness, like he really meant what he said. 

“Right back at you angel,” Crowley fumbled, cheeks going red. “And besides,” he said, trying to salvage the situation, “you’re no bookseller.” 

Fell laughed. “That is true.” 

The rest of the meal passed by joyfully. Crowley could feel himself fall deeper into the rabbithole that was Azira Fell. He found himself wishing they were together all the time, where they spend every second with the other. He wanted Fell all to himself, an impossible and selfish wish. But Crowley desperately wished it, ached with it. He had never been like this before. 

He had never been this deep in love. 

He used to have a crush on his best friend in high school, a boy named Lucius who smoked cigarettes and got into fights every week. The bruises on his pale skin were green and purple, and sometimes Crowley wished that he could kiss them away. But this wasn’t anything like Lucius; with Lucius it had been a fleeting dream, a way for him to sleep at night. He was able to get up in the morning and forget about it. But with Fell, it was different. He had never felt something so deep within his soul. He had never wished for something with his entire body, not like this. 

He was in love, deeply, impossibly in love with a man twenty years his senior, who smelled like vanilla and Earl Gray, and who didn’t like Queen. He was screwed. 

“Ready to go?” Fell smiled at him, his meal done, and Crowley was left breathless by his beauty. 

“Whatever you want.” 

Fell got up and walked around the table, ready to walk out. As he walked by Crowley, he leaned down and kissed his cheek gently, Fell’s lips soft on Crowley's skin. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, for what Crowley didn’t know or care. Fell had kissed him. Crowley's skin burned where his lips had touched his cheek and it felt like firelight. It was something holy, Crowley thought, because he never knew something could be so fulfilling. It felt like what religion promised, a deep heat inside his heart. 

“Come on,” Fell called over his shoulder, and Crowley complied.

* * *

Crowley stepped out of his apartment feeling giddy, his heart hammering away in his chest. He was wearing a heavy leather jacket and a pair of ripped skinny jeans, his hair in two braids over his shoulders. It looked like running lava for the black on his clothes. He tried on some pink eye shadow under his eyes today (even though nobody would see it), and he was feeling like he was on top of the world. He felt like he could do anything he wanted. 

Fell had kissed him. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that moment all night, the singular second when his lips had brushed Crowley's skin. Even now, Crowley's skin still burned, still Fell’s lips had been coated in chemicals that were slowly eating through his cheek and into his mouth. Crowley would let it happen, let Fell consume him completely if it meant they could be together. 

Crowley never thought it was impossible to feel this way. He had read about it, the feeling in your stomach when you were so impossibly in love with someone that you wanted to throw up, but he had never experienced it. And now his stomach was shaking, and his fingers ached to hold Fell close to him, and to be held in return. 

He started walking towards Fells shop, excited to see the man again, but stopped when a flash of lilac looked over at him. Crowley quickly ducked beside his car, hiding himself from view. Gabriel scanned the area, then shook his head, turning away. Crowley watched him, making sure his body was completely covered by the vehicle. What was Gabriel doing in this neighbourhood? 

He watched as Gabriel knocked on Fell’s door, looking around nervously. Crowley narrowed his eyes at him, wondering what he was doing there. If Gabriel was coming to hurt Fell, Crowley wouldn’t be able to deal with it. If Gabriel was using him as a way to stop Crowley from investigating further, then Crowley didn’t know who he would choose; Fell or the children he promised to save. It was an impossible choice Crowley hoped he would never have to make. 

Crowley held his breath as Fell opened the store, looking directly at Crowley apartment. He scanned the area, not noticing Crowley crouched behind his car. Crowley knew exactly who he was searching for, who he was making sure wasn’t watching. After deciding that the area was clear, he then gestured for Gabriel to enter. Gabriel hesitantly entered, and the door was shut behind them. 

Crowley waited a few moments, before standing up and running back into his apartment. He slammed the door behind him, breathing heavy. His heart felt like it was filled with ice, like someone had splashed a bucket onto him, freezing his limbs. His fingers continued to shake, though no longer from giddy excitement. 

What was Fell doing with Gabriel? Why would he lie to Crowley about not knowing him? How did they know each other exactly? Questions flew through his mind, and Crowley didn’t want to answer them. There was fear inside his chest that replaced his earlier happiness, and Crowley longed for that feeling again. Sometimes, he thought, ignorance was bliss, because he yearned for the time when he hadn’t known Fell was lying. 

Or maybe Crowley was jumping to conclusions too quickly. Fell had even said, everyone had something to hide, and Crowley wondered if he was blowing something out of proportion, looking for connections that weren’t there. Fell was a reasonable man, he wouldn’t hide major things for Crowley. But reasonable men didn’t lie in the first place. 

The biggest question was why would Fell be acquainted with the man Crowley was after, the man who was currently the biggest suspect in the case? It didn’t make sense to Crowley; Fell had even told him that he didn’t know the man personally. But from their interaction, Crowley was willing to bet that wasn’t true, that they had known each other for a long time. 

He slowly walked back into his apartment, wishing he could bleach away the image from his skull and go back to peaceful ignorance. Because now he was wondering how much Fell was lying to him about. 

He collapsed behind the counter, bringing his knees to his chest. How would he confront Fell about his, about the lie? How could he even begin to bring it up? He would have to, Crowley knew, because in order to finally figure something out, they all had to be telling the truth, and Crowley knew he himself had nothing to hide. 

He would confront Fell the next time he was him. He would ask for the truth, and pray Fell would deliver. 

His only comfort was that the pictures were coming in soon. Hopefully there would be an end to this investigation. Crowley was growing tired of it. 

* * *

They were at some underground restaurant Fell had been meaning to try for months, and was excited to experience it with Crowley. Crowley had wordlessly agreed when Fell asked him, and he could tell Fell was worried about him and his newfound silence, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he could see was the moment when Fell scanned the area, making sure Crowley wasn't watching when he let Gabriel into his shop. He was deliberately hiding things from Crowley, and it hurt more than Crowley was willing to admit. 

The restaurant was small and warm, almost uncomfortably so. As soon as they entered, Crowley had taken off his jacket, feeling the heat cocoon him. The building smelled like curry and something sweet, a delectable scent. Fell was practically drooling the second they entered. Now they were sitting, waiting for their meals to come in. 

“Isn’t this lovely?” Fell asked, looking around excitedly, looking like a child. His cheeks were flushed rosy in the heat and sweat glistened on his bottom lip. Crowley tried not to be transfixed; there was a reason he was there today after all and it wasn’t to admire the man who lied to him. 

“I suppose so,” he answered, making sure not to say anything more. He was trying to find a way to approach the topic of Gabriel gently. He needed an opening, but he couldn't find one at the moment. So he kept silent, biding his time. 

Fell looked at him strangely, but kept quiet as well. It seemed like he was unwilling to ruin the night with a fight. 

“Oh my dear,” he said, brightening up. “Before I forget. I have some new information if you would like.” Crowley raised an eyebrow as Fell reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a tiny book. It was small, only a few pages long, and Crowley took it gently, careful not to break it. 

“What is it?” 

“It was something Adam showed me a year ago when he was visiting me,” Fell explained, as Crowley started to flip through. “He said Anathema gave it to him, that it was supposed to be a journal for him to write all the things he saw that were slightly off so he could tell her about them. It was like Deidre said; she was teaching about the world. He forgot it a few months ago when he was last here, and he didn’t ask for it again.” 

Crowley flipped through it, spying pages that detailed all the shadows Adam deemed scary, all the dreams he thought meant something more, and all the ideas he had for world peace. Crowley traced his fingers over his handwriting, the loopy printing clearly belonging to a young boy. 

“Why did you keep this from me?” Crowley asked. 

“To tell the truth, I had completely forgotten about it,” Fell said. “But look at the last entry. That’s what is interesting.” 

Crowley flipped to the last pages where Adams last entry was written. The date was four months before his death, perhaps written during the last visit to Fells bookshop. There were empty pages following it, pages that would never be filled because its owner was gone for good. Crowley tried not to pay attention to them. 

“I feel like there is something watching me,” Crowley read aloud. “Like there is a shadow following me wherever I go. I see him sometimes, a man dressed in all black.” He looked up at Fell's hopeful face, and he could feel anger bubble up inside of him. How dare Fell help him after he lied? “How is this supposed to help angel? There is no name, no detail about the man himself,” he asked harshly. 

“Well,” Fell began, resting his chin on intertwined hands. “For starters, I might know who he is talking about.” 

Crowley felt his eyes widen. “What?” 

“Yes, while I don’t know his name, I know who he is and who he is part of.” Fell became silent, watching Crowley intently. Crowley waited for him to continue speaking, feeling impatient. 

“Well, aren’t you going to tell me?” 

“Aren’t you going to apologise for being rude?” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’m sorry,” he said bitterly. “Can you just tell me?” 

Fell sighed and leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the table. “They call themselves the Four Horsemen,” he began. “Nobody knows their real names, but they travel together. Some people think they’re drug dealers, some people think they’re angels of death. I don’t know myself, but I remember them hanging around before Adam was killed.” 

“Really?”

“There’s more: they’ve been in business since the 18th century. Sightings of the Four Horsemen have been written down for years. I was looking at that book of history you brought from the library and it mentioned them a few times.”

“So it really must be a reenactment thing huh?” Crowley wondered. “People trying to finish the job. But that still doesn't explain why they’re doing it. Why do they choose one kid every year, or why do they even target them specifically.” 

“I don’t know either, we don’t even know if they’re really guilty,” Fell shrugged. “But more information is better than none, isn’t it my dear?” 

“Yeah, and the photos are coming in soon and we’ll be able to figure out who sent them,” Crowley murmured. “Hopefully we’ll be able to find them and ask for more information if they have any.” 

“Yes,” Fell smiled, a tight lipped motion. “Hopefully.” 

“Though I do have one question angel,” Crowley said, putting the book aside. Fell looked at him, kindness radiating from his eyes. Crowley almost felt bad, but he needed the truth. He couldn’t work with a liar. “Are you sure you don’t know Gabriel?” 

Fell's eyes narrowed and he licked his lips nervously. “Why are you asking?” 

“No reason,” Crowley said smoothly, trying to appear casual, like he didn’t see Fell with Gabriel a few hours before. “I was just wondering.” 

Fell was silent for a couple seconds. Crowley watched him carefully, waiting to see if he would tell the truth. Eventually Fell sighed and slumped in his seat, almost like he was ashamed. “You saw didn’t you?” 

“Well I wasn’t going to say anything,” Crowley sarcastically drawled, before bringing his voice down low, anger echoing through his words. “Why did you lie to me angel?” 

“It’s isn’t what you think,” Fell defended, waving his hands. “Look, you have to promise not to tell anyone else, okay?” 

“I promise.” 

Fell looked at him skeptically, clearly not believing him, but opened his mouth to speak anyway. “We’re brothers. We used to be a part of this big religious family, but I left a few years ago because I couldn’t deal with it. Being the only gay sibling gets tiring after awhile,” he sighed. Crowley watched him impassively. “They disowned me, and I haven’t seen them since. They’re all big public figures and they go to great lengths to make sure nobody knows about me, the disappointment of the family. So when you asked if I knew Gabriel, I said no because they can’t be associated with me, and I don’t care about that part. I cut ties with them a long time ago. But Gabriel still keeps in contact. He was the only one. That’s what we were doing yesterday. I’m sorry I lied to you, I wish I didn’t have to.” 

Crowley felt a wave of shame fill him. Of course Fell was innocent. He wouldn’t lie to Crowley unless he had good reason too. Not only that, but he was disowned, a black sheep in the family. Crowley had always felt like that with his parents, like he was slightly different than what they wanted, but at least his parents tried their best to support him. They weren’t the best, but Crowley was lucky to have them. Not everyone was as lucky as him. 

“I am so sorry angel,” Crowley said, feeling guilty. “Not only for doubting you, but for what your family has done. You deserve better.” 

“Oh Crowley,” Fell said, his eyes filled with love. “I have better. You.” 

Crowley couldn’t contain it any longer, not with Fell looking at him like he was the most perfect being in existence. He stood up, bending across the table to kiss Fell on his lips, the entire restaurant watching. It was like kissing lightning, Crowley thought, like there was a spark of something running through his veins. Kissing Fell was the most glorious thing in the world. 

He pulled away slowly, looking into Fells brilliant eyes. They were bright blue, sparkling with shock and unparalleled love. Crowley loved him so much. His heart felt like it would stop beating with how full it was. 

“You’re the most wondrous thing in my world,” he whispered, slowly sitting back down. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Fell said, a large smile pulling at his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw you. You were so beautiful that first morning we met you know. I’ve never yearned for something more.” 

“Ahem,” someone coughed, and both men turned to the side, looking at an unimpressed waitress. She looked tired, like she had been working for hours and despised them just for simply existing. “I would hate to ruin this wonderful moment, but your food is here. Enjoy.” She set the plates down, the meal still steaming. 

“Thank you my dear girl,” Fell said, looking embarrassed. “This looks delicious.” 

The waitress hummed, then walked away, muttering, “Jesus Christ, I better get a fucking raise soon.” Crowley and Fell looked at each other, giggling like children, before picking up their forks to eat. 

The night was warm and the food was the most delicious meal Crowley ever ate. He finished his plate, something that very rarely happened for him, and watched Fell finish his. It was an incredible experience, watching Fell make little noises whenever the bite was particularly delectable. Crowley was content to watch him for forever if need be. 

When they were done, Fell paid for the meal, not paying attention to Crowley's protests, then held out his arm for Crowley to take. Crowley blushed at the gesture and hooked his arm around Fell’s. The action reminded him of the first night they spent together, when Fell insisted on walking him home. 

The man led him out of the restaurant into the cool night air where the stars twinkled above them. Crowley barely saw them inside the city, but tonight they burned brighter than in the country, like the universe was celebrating their love, pollution be damned.

They walked down the sidewalk, sneaking little smiles at each like they were teenagers infatuated with the idea of their love. It was like a dance between them, Crowley leaning against Fell causing them to lean to the left, then back to the right as they laughed so hard their ribs ached. Fell hadn’t been a child in years, but tonight he looked younger, joy filling his eyes. 

Crowley had never felt so happy in his life. He was so deeply in love, so loving entangled in Fells eyes he didn’t think he could ever cut himself free. 

They stopped in front of Crowley's apartment, the streetlights illuminating everything. It bathed them in a golden glow, turning Crowley's hair to fire, and Fell’s a lovely yellow. It was a perfect moment, something right out of Crowley's high school fantasies. 

Fell leaned in and kissed him gently, then slowly pressed harder when Crowley eagerly reciprocated. They stood like that for minutes, holding each other tightly like it was the last night they had for each other. They kissed like in any minutes the stars would come crashing down. 

_ “That would explain their brightness,”  _ Crowley thought, brushing his hand through Fells soft hair,  _ “They’re closer than ever, waiting to destroy us for this love.”  _

“If this is what sin is,” Fell murmured, pulling away from the kiss. His voice was strangled, like he was somewhere else in the world. “Then I will gladly commit and allow you to consume me in hellfire. I will dedicate religions to you and I will kneel before you and pray for my salvation.” 

“You’re perfect,” Crowley laughed, his lips still just faintly touching Fell’s. He turned bright red, awkwardly toeing the ground. He pulled away completely, looking into Fells eyes, and realised he had never wanted someone the same way he wanted Fell. “Would you like to come in?” he asked shyly, knowing very well what he was offering. 

Fells eyes widened. “Not tonight,” he replied, gently brushing his fingers against Crowley's jaw. “But soon. I promise.” 

“Then I will wait,” Crowley said. “Until you come back to me.” 

Fell kissed him again, then turned away, heading back to his own shop. Crowley watched him go, his body filled with warmth even as Fell left him standing there. The man turned around when he got to his own doorstep and blew a kiss towards Crowley. Crowley rolled his eyes, but his heart soared inside his chest. It was cheesy action, but Crowley loved it. He loved Fell so much. 

He entered his own shop, a failed florist who hadn’t sold a single flower yet, covering his mouth with his hand. He laughed wildly, feeling lighter than he ever had before. 

“He loves me back,” he laughed, dancing towards the stairs that lead up to his bedroom. “I can’t believe this ever happened to me.” 

He got dressed into his pyjamas, his hands shaking with excitement. It was like he had drank four cups of coffee at once, but without the bitter taste in his mouth, and without the inevitable crash. For a single breathless moment, everything was perfect. He collapsed into his bed, wrapping himself in a soft silk sheet given to him by his parents as a housewarming gift, and smiled foolishly to himself. 

“I want to live with him,” he said out loud to his ceiling, feeling slightly stupid for it, “and I want to eat breakfast with him and I want to die for him. I want him forever, and if he wants me back, I will gladly sink into his embrace and stay there until I die.” 

He turned the lights off, not thinking he would be able to sleep, but willing to try so the night would pass faster and he could see Fell again soon. 

He could feel himself slowly start to drift when a sharp pounding on the door awoke him. He sat up quickly, the darkness surrounding him, as the pounding grew louder and more frantic. Crowley hopped out of bed, checking the time. It was 12 am, and he didn’t know who could be at the door. 

He slowly crept down the stairs to his shop where the giant windows let in the moonlight, making it easier to see in the building. It didn’t show who was outside though. 

“Please,” a strangled voice pleaded, the pounding stopping. “Please, I’m begging you, let me in. Please, please, it’s cold out here.” 

Crowley hesitantly approached, feeling fear fill him. He didn’t recognise the voice, so he couldn’t know who it was, or what they wanted. The building was cold, and Crowley shivered. 

“Please Crowley,” the voice begged, and Crowley startled; whoever it was knew his name. “Please, it’s important. It’s about Adam.” 

That did it. Whoever was out there had information about Adam, and Crowley wasn’t going to deny any new clues. So he slowly unlocked the door and opened it a smidge, peering out. He gasped when he saw who it was and threw open the door completely, allowing them to come in. 

Gabriel collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard. Crowley watched him, eyes wide in disbelief as Gabriel shakily got up, clutching his chest tightly. There was a knife in his stomach, golden liquid surrounding the wound. The same golden liquid dripped down his mouth and stained his teeth, glowing slightly like sunlight. But that wasn’t what Crowley noticed the most. 

“Thank you Crowley,” Gabriel sighed, his voice cracking with pain as Crowley continued to stare at the large broken white wings that protruded from his back. 


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> um, shit is revealed.

“What happened?” Crowley breathed, shock filling his voice. Gone was the elevated happiness he felt all night, replaced with icy fear. Someone had stabbed Gabriel, someone had wished for his death. “What are you?” 

“I am so sorry,” Gabriel breathed, sounding close to tears. His lilac eyes were filled with terror and pain, and his breath was coming out in strangled gasps. Blood gurgled in the back of his throat, almost like he was drowning. “I tried to stop him, I really did. But I wasn't strong enough. I wanted to help, but I couldn't hide from him, please forgive me.” 

“Who are you talking about?” Crowley begged. He wrapped his arms around Gabriel, hoping to lift him up, but the man was heavy. He was full of panic, and he didn’t know what to do, but calling a hospital seemed impossible with the large wings behind the man. Crowley had no choice but to do it himself. “You’re losing a lot of blood, we have to get you upstairs.” 

“No Crowley,” Gabriel wheezed, collapsing to his knees. Crowley was forced to let go of his shoulders or be dragged down with him. “The blade is forged in hellfire, there is no hope for me.”

“We have to do something-” 

“No,” Gabriel interrupted, the blood gurgling in the back of his throat. Golden liquid splattered everywhere on the floor from his mouth, bathing the room with golden light. “I just came to warn you. You have to leave, he’s…” he trailed off, coughing harshly. His lungs sounded like they were full of liquid. Crowley kneeled next to him, rubbing his back, trying not to disturb the broken wings. He gently brushed one, making sure it was real. It was, the feathers impossibly soft. “He’s after you,” Gabriel continued. “He’ll...he’ll-” 

“He’ll what? Who are you talking about?” Crowley cried, reaching down and grabbing Gabriel's face. The man, or whatever he was, made some motions with his lips, like he was trying to say something, but nothing would come out. His lilac eyes fluttered shut, and he slumped, Crowley’s hands supporting his lifeless body. Golden blood was smeared over Crowley's fingers, like sunlight dripping down his skin. 

Crowley threw his body to the side, Gabriel falling to the ground. He watched as the body started to disintegrate, golden particles swirling in the air before disappearing like ash from a fire. Crowley could do nothing but stare as he disappeared, the knife clattering the floor, echoing through the store. Gabriels body was gone; where it had once lain there was nothing. 

Crowley stood there for a few seconds. He couldn’t move; it was like his body was frozen in ice. The only evidence that Gabriel had ever been there was the knife and the pool of golden blood. Then suddenly Crowley was moving, falling to his knees in front of the weapon. He picked it up, half expecting it to fall through his hands, almost like he imagined what just happened. But it was cool under his touch and frightfully solid. 

The smell of fire and brimstone filled the air. The knife was small, fitting snugly in Crowley palm, but it hummed with horrible energy, fantasies of murder and bloodshed echoing inside the metal. Crowley gently set it back down on the floor and ran out the door mindlessly, his long legs stumbling in the dark. 

* * *

“Fell,” he cried, jiggling the door handle roughly to Fells shop. “Azira, help me!” He felt desperate, everything part of him trembling with fear. Whenever he closed his eyes, he re-lived the moment when Gabriel crashed into his shop, eyes filled with panic. He wished he could forget it, but it was permanently seared into his brain. He knew he wouldn’t forget it until the day he died. 

He was breathing heavily, tears filling his eyes. He just witnessed a death in front of his very eyes, the murder of someone he didn’t think was totally human. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, feeling like it would never slow down again. 

Fell threw open the door, letting Crowley in, looking worried. His blue eyes looked like they were glowing through the blurry tears falling down Crowley's cheeks. “Oh my dear,” Fell muttered, tugging Crowley towards the couch. Crowley could do nothing but follow him, still shaking. His limbs felt like they were made of jello. 

Fell gently pushed him down into the soft fabric. He went to the backroom for a few seconds, then emerged holding a large blanket. He wrapped it around Crowley’s shoulders, then pulled him close so Crowley was leaning on his shoulder. Crowley nuzzled into his skin, feeling safe with Fell. Fell was warm, like a heater and Crowley curled around him, seeking out that heat. 

“What happened Crowley?” Fell comforted, rubbing his hand up and down Crowley's arm. It was warm and heavy on Crowley’s skin, like he was reminding Crowley that he was there for him no matter what. “Is everything okay?” 

“No angel,” Crowley said, his voice trembling. It felt like a chore just to force the words out. “Everything isn’t okay. Gabriel, your brother, he-” he stopped, trying to regain his breath. It was coming out faster now, and Fell tightened his grip around Crowley reassuringly. “-he was at my shop and he had a knife through his body and...and-” 

“Crowley, don’t worry,” Fell said, his voice strong, a welcome anchor in the chaos of the night. “Gabriel went home after we met. He is back in his penthouse, safe and sound.” 

“Fell, I saw him,” Crowley begged, not believing Gabriel was alive. He had seen the man die right in front of his eyes, he had felt Gabriels frozen skin. The tips of his fingers were still slightly golden where Gabriels blood had dripped onto them. “You have to believe me, I swear I’m telling the truth.” 

“It was just a bad dream,” Fell murmured, beginning to rock Crowley back and forth. “You probably had a nightmare and thought it was real.” 

“Angel,” Crowley said, his voice pleading. “Gabriel had wings.” 

Fell stopped for a second, his body tensing, before he continued rocking Crowley like nothing happened. “You imagined it,” he said, “Gabriel doesn’t have wings, and Gabriel is safe at home. Everything is fine Crowley.” 

“It’s not fine angel,” Crowley exploded, feeling himself start to break. “Gabriel is dead, and he knew who killed those children. And you don’t believe me, and, and-” he stopped, looking up at Fell, who had pity in his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Crowley,” Fell sighed, his voice gentle, like he was talking to a spooked animal. “I think you should stop this. This case is obviously making you crazy. I don’t want to see you get hurt anymore.”

Crowley looked at Fell, betrayal in his eyes. Fell didn’t believe him. The one man Crowley thought he could trust didn’t believe him. On top of that, he thought Crowley was crazy. 

Maybe he was. Maybe this really was just a figment of his imagination, but Gabriel's wings had been soft where Crowley brushed them with his finger. He could still feel the linger ghosts of the gentle wings. He didn’t know what he felt instead. 

“Crowley please,” Fell murmured, holding him close. “I just want you to be safe. You’re the greatest thing that ever happened to me, I can’t lose you now. I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“Fell please,” Crowley said, but he couldn't continue. What else could he say to a man that clearly thought he was insane? What else could he say to the man who was begging him to stay alive so sweetly? Fell was so desperate, and Crowley found that there was no defence he had left. 

“Promise me you’ll stop,” Fell said, his eyes desperate. He held onto Crowley like he was afraid of losing him. “Just promise me this one thing.” 

“I promise angel,” Crowley said, not meaning a word. But it was enough to convince Fell, and the man hugged him, letting out a stream of thank yous. Crowley allowed himself to be held, his eyes looking around the shop listlessly. It was easier, he thought, than arguing with Fell. And there, by the tallest bookshelf, a small drop of glowing golden blood caught Crowley’s eyes. 

* * *

“Crowley, I know you aren’t doing okay,” Fell said, his voice slightly robotic through the voicemail. Crowley listened to it, his eyes looking into nothing. They were unfocused, blurry. “And I was thinking that it might be good for you to get back into the world.” 

Crowley had stayed at Fell’s shop for a few hours, Fell rocking him back and forth, whispering sweet nothings into his ears, about how much he loved Crowley and how much he would die for him. All Crowley could see was the golden drops glowing on Fell’s floor, looking like fire. He was almost transfixed with the light, transfixed with the lies Fell continued to tell him. It almost fascinated him, how the man he loved was so willing to lie to him. 

He went home after a while, Fell promising to check up on him soon. Crowley couldn’t bear to be with him anymore, so he went back to his apartment, pointedly not looking at the weapon still laying on the floor. He didn’t imagine what happened like Fell said, the knife was proof of that. He wasn’t crazy, and as much as he hated it, Fell had something to do with it laying there. 

It was an idea that Crowley wished would leave his brain. Because he loved Fell, and it was torture to admit that maybe Fell wasn’t what he said he was. But Crowley was a realist, a cynical, and he could admit to himself that Fell was keeping something from him, something important. And if Fell insisted on keeping it from him, Crowley would find it himself. 

“I’m going to lunch today at the Ritz, and I was hoping you would join me and we could talk about what happened last night,” Fells voice continued, the voicemail still going. Crowley scoffed; as if he would be willing to talk with him after what he did. “Anyway, call me back when you get this message. I hope to see you there.” 

The voicemail ended, and Crowley sighed. He couldn’t deny that hearing Fells voice was soothing, but he couldn’t allow himself to be pulled under any more until he knew exactly what Fell was. 

He waited a few minutes, looking out the window of his shop, until he saw Fell exit his shop. He watched as Fell looked directly at him through the giant window. His eyes were pleading, like he desperately wanted Crowley to come with him. But Crowley just looked away, and when he turned back, Fell was gone. 

Crowley slowly stood up, stretching his legs. He felt like he had been sitting there for hours, and his bones were tired. He slowly grabbed the knife that had been used to kill Gabriel, looking it over. The blood was gone, and it shone brightly in his hands, like there was fire fused into its very core. _Hellfire,_ Gabriel has said. A blade forged in the deepest pits of hell. Crowley took a deep breath, then slid it into his pocket. 

_ “Just in case, _ ” he thought. 

He left his shop, locking the door behind him, then ran over to A.Z Fell and Co. He reached the door, feeling adrenaline course through his veins. He reached out a shaky hand and tried the doorknob, hoping that it was unlocked. 

The door swung open and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. He slowly entered the building, feeling guilt fill him. He was breaking into Fells shop, his pride and joy. But his curiosity overwhelmed his guilt, and he shut the door behind him. 

Being in the shop alone was a different experience. It was like the silence had a voice inside this shop, like something was watching him. Crowley slowly walked inside, wondering where to start his investigation. He took off his sunglasses so it would be easier to see where he was looking. He shoved them into his pocket, then began to wander. 

He started at the right side of the room, where there were no bookshelves but rather stacks that towered over Crowley. He carefully manoeuvred through the piles, trying to find something important. Dust covered his shoulders, getting his black clothes dirty. He knew he would smell musty for the rest of the day, and that no amount of perfume would cover it. 

Behind a particularly large stack, something shiny caught Crowley’s eye, and he moved towards it, gently placing books somewhere else. A part of him still didn’t want to disappoint Fell, and destroying his books would be a sure way to do that. Maybe there was a part of him that would stay with Fell no matter what. 

Hidden away behind books was a giant sword. Crowley ran his fingers down it gently, the sharp edge of it just barely cutting into his skin. It looked old, but taken care of, and Crowley could clearly see Fell’s hands wrapped around the hilt, swinging it with vengeance. He admired it for a few more minutes, before standing up. There wasn’t anything of importance there. 

He continued his search, trying to be as quick as possible. He made sure to move items back where they were when he found them. Fell was the type of person to notice when a single pen was out of place. He was the kind of person who thrived in organised chaos, who knew where everything was despite no rhyme or rhythm to his methods. 

He sorted through books on top of stacks that might have something important tucked inside, finding nothing but old bookmarks. He moved old cups filled with mouldy hot chocolate, and looked under stacks of papers. His fingers were covered in dust, feeling strange and tingly. 

His search continued throughout the entire room. He found more objects like the sword, paintings that were so old they looked like they should be in museums, jackets that were made in the 1800’s, books signed by authors that died centuries ago. Fell had a treasure trove hidden away between books, and suddenly Crowley knew why he could afford so many things. He could be a billionaire if he sold all he had. 

The minutes ticked away as Crowley completed his search through the shop, but there was still one more place he hadn’t checked; Fell’s desk. 

Crowley hesitantly approached it, feeling a sense of dread loom over him. But something propelled him forward, almost like a feeling of duty. He remembered his promise to the children and he moved forward, reaching into the first drawer. 

There was nothing in it but old envelopes, addressed to Gabriel, Micheal, and Uriel. Crowley had already met Gabriel; he wondered if the other names were Fell’s other siblings, the ones who disowned him and kept him locked out of their home. 

He moved onto the second one that had nothing but bookmarks, laminated quotes from famous series and pictures of long dead authors. Fell was clearly a fanatic. Crowley had seen it firsthand. 

The third one, however, was different. It was filled with leather ribbons, all tangled together. Crowley pondered why Fell would need so many. But it was what was under them that mattered. A flash of white caught Crowley's eye, and he pulled the ribbons out slowly, his breath catching in his throat. Something important was down there. He set them down on the desk, then reached in, pulling out three pieces of folded up paper. The edges were rough, clearly torn out from another book, and Crowley felt himself grow cold. He almost wished he was wrong, but when he unfolded them, he couldn’t deny it. 

“Angus Nutter,” he whispered. Pages 457 to 560 were here, hidden in Fells desk. He was the one to tear them out from the book of prophecies all along. “Fuck.” 

He read them quickly, eyes latching on the last one. 

_ The angel of the Gate will be found out every Year _

_ And will Hyde his misgivings  _

_ Until the day he dyes _

“What does that mean?” Crowley wondered, his brain working miles per minute. But he finally figured it out, and the connections were coming together, all the leads that he knew would make sense if he could just find the pages. The pages were the final piece of the puzzle, and Crowley wished that they had remained missing. 

The door to the shop opened and Crowley startled, heart almost stopping. He dashed to the couch, shoving the pages underneath his thigh, grabbing the first book he could. He opened it to a random page and pretended he had been reading. 

The footsteps got louder as Fell entered his shop, then stopped when he noticed his guest. 

“Crowley? What are you doing here?” 

Crowley smiled up at him, trying to hide his unease. Fell’s eyes were filled with fear that he was obviously trying to mask. He wanted to scream at the man, asking why he helped Crowley when he was the one hiding the pages, but he decided to bid his time. There would be an opening. 

“I came to apologise,” he said sweetly, trying to appear like everything was fine. He was thankful for the glasses that hid his eyes away from Fells knowing look. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did last night to a simple dream. You were right. It was nothing but a nightmare.” 

“Well, I’m glad you agree,” Fell said tensely. “What are you doing in the shop?” 

“I came to wait for you,” Crowley replied, noticing his awkwardness. He was clearly hiding something, and Crowley had a pretty good idea about what it was. Everything was crystal clear. “I decided to do some reading while I waited.” 

“Oh,” Fell said, looking relieved. All the tension vanished from his body as he wandered over, sitting across from Crowley, sinking into the armchair. “That’s fine. What are you reading?” 

“Well,” Crowley said, looking down at the pages for the first time. He read the first few lines, trying to piece together the story. “It’s a story about the garden of Eden, and the angel who was tasked with guarding the Eastern Gate. He had a flaming sword and-” 

“Wait,” Fell said, his voice high pitched. 

“-and his name was Aziraphale,” Crowley read, then stopped. “Aziraphale. His name was Aziraphale.” 

“Yes it was,” Fell said, his lips pursed. 

“Aziraphale. Azira Fell.” He looked up at Fell, his eyes wide. It was like something finally clicked, the final puzzle. Crowley believed in science and galaxies and research. He also believed in supernatural entities and shadows that watched your every move, and he was finally proven right. “Do you have wings like Gabriel?” he asked, a sense of triumph building up in his lungs. 

The atmosphere in the room changed immediately. Suddenly it felt like there were thousands of eyes on Crowley, watching his every move. It was brighter somehow, and something hummed in the air, raw power extruding from every corner. He felt cracked open, laid bear to the heavens. He knew he certainly wasn't getting into heaven now. 

“I’m sorry,” Fell, Aziraphale, said, sounding like he truly meant it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did say this was a mediocre murder mystery didn't i?


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well....stuff happens

When Crowley was a boy, he thought he saw an angel. She was the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life. They were in Canada by the Great Lakes, staying in the forest in a tiny cabin. She had been with another family, quite possibly a few years old than him. He was eight years old, and in love with her. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and freckles dotting her skin, and she wore long summer dresses. She made wonderful lemonade, and was everyone’s favourite daughter. 

He almost drowned that trip. The Great Lakes were more like oceans, and he was pulled under by a giant wave. He couldn’t swim back up, and his breath was coming out faster than he ever imagined. His lungs tightened and his vision grew black, as he accepted that he would die that day. He was eight year olds, already accepting that fact that he wouldn't live another day. 

Then suddenly the girl was there, the sun shining through the water on her back as she pulled him up from the waves. She looked ethereal, a blue light surrounded her body from the sun under the water. She carried him to the beach and saved his life. After that day, Crowley never saw her again. His parents told him that her parents left, but Crowley always believed she was a guardian angel sent to save his life. He wasn't a religious man; but he knew there were also things that you could never understand about the world. 

Of course, now it was hard to believe that sitting in front of a real angel. 

“You’re an angel,” Crowley breathed. Fell stuck his nose up in the air and didn’t answer, a motion that spoke a thousand words. “A real life holy beast. Where’s your extra eyes?” 

“They tend to freak people out,” Fell said snottily. "So I don't walk around bearing them for all to see?" 

“Wow,” Crowley muttered, trying to process the information. There were so many questions he could ask, about death and life and the world that existed after your stay on Earth. “So there is a God?” 

“She hasn’t been seen since the rebellion.” 

“Damn, I always knew God was a woman.” Crowley laughed in disbelief. It was really all he could do. For most of his life he had complicated feelings about religion; his parents believed in God, but Lucius worshipped Satan, and there was something so much more powerful in it. There was a sense of freedom that came from worshipping those who broke their chains and forged their own way, and how they were beaten down by the one in charge. It was almost a metaphor for real life. There was always something in Crowley that never really believed in everything that they were doing. But if angels were real, then so was heaven and so was hell. Crowley wondered what the fires would feel like licking up his legs, because he knew he was never destined for heaven. 

“God doesn’t have a gender, but it’s a human idea that I quite enjoy. You all seem to enjoy the empowerment that comes with it,” Fell explained. It was so strange hearing him say humans like he was distanced to them, but it made sense; even before, when Crowley still thought he was human, there was something strange about the man. 

“So you were the one to kill those children?” Crowley asked, remembering the prophecy he found hidden in Fells drawers. “I thought angels weren’t allowed to do harm.” 

“It was an accident, you must understand-” 

“Oh yes,” Crowley said sarcastically. “Because a child being murdered once every year for literal centuries is an accident. That makes everything better.” He felt like there was a knife in his stomach, dripping red blood down his legs. The betrayal hurt more than he ever could have imagined. He had been working right alongside the killer the entire time. He shared drinks with the man whose hands were coated in children's blood. 

Did that make him just as bad? He fell in love with a monster, so did that mean that he was a monster too? 

“It’s true,” Fell said desperately, like he wanted nothing more than for Crowley to believe him. “The first one at least.” 

“I’m going to give you a few minutes to explain,” Crowley exclaimed, leaning back. Fell looked ashamed of himself, his eyes weighed down with sorrow and grief. Crowley wondered if he regretted it, or if he even was allowed to feel those emotions. He killed them; Crowley could think of no justifiable reason why, so why should Fell get to feel that sadness? 

“It’s true what I said before,” Fell began. “It was an accident at first. Me and Gabriel were on assignment when we came across some demons in the middle of town. They were going to hurt some people and we had no choice. We went to battle in the middle of a civilisation. I threw my sword hoping to hit one, and the demon disappeared. Behind him was a child.” Fell’s voice cracked slightly, as if he was in pain remembering it. Crowley tried to feel pity for him, and he almost could. He still loved Fell, no matter how much he didn’t want to. But then he pictured the terrified face of the child Fell hit, a flaming sword pierced through their gut, the sword nearly the same size as them, and he no longer felt anything for the man. It was like his heart had shrivelled up. 

“We had to cover it up, or else we would fall. We couldn't let that child's soul get to heaven, so instead I, uh…” he stopped, bringing his voice down to a whisper. “I absorbed her soul into me and she didn’t go anywhere. I made Gabriel promise not to tell, or else we would both be punished, and he had kept his promise well.” Fell’s gaze darkened. “At least until you. I tried to tell him to stay away from you, but he just wouldn’t listen. He even gave you those photographs. I had to get him out of the way.” 

So that answered the question about the photographs. Crowley wondered what the results would say if he ever did get them back. 

“Hiding your tracks doesn’t sound like a very angelic thing to do,” Crowley remarked. “Neither does killing children.” 

“You don’t understand,” Fell suddenly snapped, his eyes going dark. The room seemed to dim in his anger, and Crowley watched, fascinated. “I had to. That girl, she put a curse on me. Every year someone is bound to find out who I truly am, and every year I must consume them so they don’t tell anyone what I truly am. Do you know what it’s like, harming another life? Going against your very nature just to stay alive?" 

“I’d rather die angel,” Crowley said, eyes hard. “I can’t even call you that anymore.” 

“You think I wanted to to kill them?” Fell yelled, standing up suddenly. Crowley mirrored his movements, trying to stay alert. “I loved Adam, he was such a lovely child, so much untapped ability. He would have changed lives. But I can’t let him go. So I took his soul.” Fell's voice got quiet once again. “They’re so much more powerful than anyone in heaven. A child's soul, their boundless imagination, their raw potential. If you could only feel the way I do, you would understand why I do it.” 

Anger filled Crowley, no matter how much he didn’t want it to. The man he was in love with, the man Crowley pictured spending the rest of his life with, was a killer. Crowley could imagine the fear in the victims eyes, could almost hear their screams in the bookshop. They were still here, Crowley realised. They couldn’t get to heaven, they couldn’t get to hell. They were trapped in the house of their murderer, forced to watch as year after year more was added. They were forced to watch them never get justice for centuries. 

“Why their eyes?” 

“Don’t you know? Eyes are the souls themselves. Every emotion, every thought is echoed through them. You just have to pay attention. I never wanted to do this to them.” 

“Why would you kill two then?” Crowley asked. "If the curse is only one child per year, why two bodies?" 

“It’s the strangest thing,” Fell said, furrowing his brow. It was an action Crowley used to think was cute, but now he hated. “Adam, while having a soul, was the wrong one. It gave me no more power than a simple blessing. He was destined for great things I imagine.” 

“That boy had a future you took from him.” 

“I didn’t want to.” 

“But you still did. It doesn’t matter what your intentions were, the fact is that you killed children for your own selfish gain,” Crowley said quietly. “You deserve to burn in hell for what you did.” 

“And as I’ve said before,” Fell replied, “if you’re there with me, I’ll go willingly.” 

“You’re a fool if you think I’d still be with you after this.” 

The heartbreak on Fell’s face almost made Crowley regret his words. But he made a promise to those children, and he didn’t make one to Fell. And when it came down to the choice between them, Crowley would do the honourable thing, not because he was a good person, but because those children did not deserve the fate they were given. None of them deserved to be trapped in a tiny bookshop, watching their killer succeed. 

“One more question,” Crowley said, and Fell nodded frantically. “Why did you help me?”

“Because I love you,” Fell replied, his voice full of longing. “You were so pretty, so determined to do the right things, how could I not love you? I was hoping to mislead you, to pull you somewhere else, but you figured it out regardless.” He sighed sadly. “You’re smart and beautiful. So much better than me.” 

“Shut up,” Crowley snapped. “You don’t get to say that. Those children had futures they’ll never get to see because you were too scared to take your punishment. You can’t hide forever.” 

He stepped closer to Fell, reaching into his pocket to palm the blade. It was cold, heavy in his hands, weighed down with many possibilities and potential. Hellfire, running through its core . He wondered if he was really going to go through with this; wouldn’t killing Fell make him just as bad? 

But sometimes there was going to be a lesser evil. Yes, it’s still evil, it’s still cruel and immoral and wrong. But letting Fell continue what he was doing was worse, and Crowley was already destined for hell. There was no way he'd ever see those pearly gates, he would never be welcomed in by God Herself. What he was planning to do was evil in the eyes of God, but in the eyes of those who truly understood the logistics of good and bad, it was a fitting punishment. And those children deserved more than just Fells guilt. They deserved his death. 

“I loved you,” Crowley whispered. “You made me feel safe with hands that have taken lives. I hope that when I fall in love again, they’ll know what I have done here, so I don’t deceive them the way you have to me. I hope they know exactly what I've done, and maybe then they'll love me regardless.” 

Fells eyes widened for a split second, then Crowley lunged forward, the blade plunging into Fells stomach. Golden blood spilled from the wound the way it had from Gabriels, and Crowley felt remorse on behalf of the man. He backed up, letting go of the knife, letting it remain in Fell’s skin. His hands were covered in splatters of golden liquid, strangely hot on his skin. 

“How dare you,” Fell whispered, collapsing onto his knees. He leaned his head against Crowley’s stomach, golden blood soaking into his clothes. Fell’s hands wrapped around Crowley’s waist and held on tight, gripping him like a lifeline as his own force left his body. Crowley let him; he supposed he could do that one final thing for him. There was no harm in it. 

Crowley reached down and gently placed his hands in Fells hair.  He waited until Fell disintegrated, golden particles filling the air, to cry, sobs shaking his shoulders. He couldn’t help it; Fell was the first person he had ever loved completely, he was allowed to feel pain. But he would feel love again soon. This feeling of hopelessness wouldn’t last forever. He knew it wouldn't because time kept marching on, and one day he would be fine. 

A gentle hand came up and wiped his tears away. It was cold on his skin, like liquid ice, like he had plunged into the Great Lakes again. He looked up, part of him wishing to see Fell in front him, offering his strange comfort. It wasn’t him, of course, but instead a little boy that glowed blue. He was clear, and Crowley could see right through his stomach, but he still remained. 

“Thank you,” Adam said, and Crowley nodded, feeling a sense of fulfilment fill up in his heart. He’d done it. He brought justice for these children. He brought closure for their families, and he had given the children proper graves. 

Adam slowly faded away until Crowley was alone. There was nothing left in the store that showed that was ever more than one person there. Crowley looked around for a couple seconds, then walked out, leaving the knife behind. He had no use for it anymore. He hoped that maybe it would disappear on its own, having fulfilled its purpose. 

* * *

It was a few days after Fell died. Crowley was finally able to open his store for the first time as dictated by the chief of police. 

“We assure the people of this city that we are looking very hard for the killer,” she reassured the people during a press conference. Crowley watched from the TV, holding himself tightly. “That doesn’t mean we should allow stores to remain closed until we do.” 

Crowley wondered how long it would take people to realise the killer was gone for good. Probably a couple years when no more murders occurred. For now, Crowley was willing to keep silent and go about his life. He called his parents, making sure to tell them he was okay. They had heard about what happened, the murders on his street, and seemed terrified for him. Then he started preparing for his real grand opening. It gave him a welcome distraction from the heartbreak that still plagued him. He tried to keep himself busy though, trying to forget. 

It was Friday when he was finally ready to open. He unlocked the door and breathed a sigh of relief, like it a trial he had just completed. Flowers were displayed everywhere, the faint delicate scent filling the air. He longed for this. It was finally a reality. 

The shop was fairly successful for its first day, getting lots of teenagers looking for flowers for their girlfriends, and frantic businessmen looking for a gift for a scorned wife. Crowley took care of each customer, making sure they were completely satisfied with what they got. At this rate, he would be able to pay off his payments. That thought made him stop, the memory of Fell paying his debts for him still clear in his mind. He wished he could have done that before Crowley realised who he truly was. Now Crowley had a debt to someone long dead. 

It was about halfway through the day when the bell on top of the door rang, signalling a customer. 

“I’ll be there in a second,” Crowley called over his shoulder, rearranging a basket of roses. It had to be perfectly pleasing, every detail of the shop perfect. 

“Take your time,” the person called back, and Crowley's heart stopped and his hands stilled, the roses pausing in their movements. He knew that voice. He had fallen in love with it. 

He practically ran to the front, terrified of what he would find. He stumbled into the front room to see a man standing there, admiring some lilacs. He turned around when he heard Crowley coming, smiling widely at him. Crowley was frozen, eyes unblinking as he stared at the man. 

It was a perfect replica of Fell, right down to the bright blue eyes and stubby fingers. It looked just like him, including Fell’s favourite waistcoat and pocket watch. But that would be impossible; Crowley had killed him, had felt the skin part where the blade had pierced his stomach. He wondered if seeing the man here was his punishment for murder, if he was doomed to see Fell wherever he walked, like ghosts following him. 

“Fell?” Crowley whispered, feeling shocked. 

“Oh?” the man said, looking surprised. “You know my name? I’m afraid I don’t know yours dear boy, but I think I would remember someone like you?” He suddenly blushed. “Not that I meant it like that, you just look so perfect and incredible and ah, sorry if that freaks you out-” 

_ “How cute, _ ” Crowley thought through his shock. “ _ He’s stuttering. Fell never did that. Fell was always so sure of himself.”  _

In fact now that he was looking, there were a lot of differences between the two men, ones that didn't seem obvious at first. This Fell didn't have the same wisdom and age in his eyes, and not as many winkles in his skin. They could be twins, but they weren’t the same. Crowley felt relieved; he didn’t know what he would do if the original Fell came back. But if Fell was still dead, who was at the front? 

“Anyway, I’m sorry for rambling,” the man continued, looking even more embarrassed. “But I’m moving in right next door, and I was just coming in to say hello. I’m Azira. Azira Fell, but please just call me Azira.” 

It was like a separation occurred between them. Azira was different from Fell, more fresh and innocent, while Fell had seen more of the world's horrors, being immortal and a vessel of the worlds misplaced hopes. Crowley found himself grateful for the distinction between them; it made it easier to separate them in his mind. 

Besides, Azira was a beautiful name. 

“Pleased to meet you Azira,” Crowley found himself saying, his voice almost not his own. “I’m Crowley.” 

“Crowley,” Azira repeated, smiling gently. “What a wonderful name. I would love to buy something from you one day." 

"I'm always here." 

Azira laughed, his eyes twinkling with joy Fell never had. "Well, I better get back to the store. I’ve got a lot of work to do, unpacking y'know? The previous owner left such a mess.” 

“Call me if you need any help,” Crowley waved. 

“Thank you!” Azira called over his shoulder as he left, the bell playing again. Crowley watched him go before scrambling upstairs back to his apartment. He ran into his bedroom, and tore into his dresser drawer, pulling out the torn pages of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Angus Nutter, Witch. And there, written on page 458: 

_ In reward for the Serpent mans deeds _

_ He shall be givin the Best gift of all _

_ Another chance  _

Crowley read the words and laughed a little bit. He would be given a second chance, and even if Azira didn’t remember him, he could try again. He could still have his happily ever after. 

He wondered how long it would take until he stopped seeing Fell's dark eyes in Azira’s. He wondered if he would ever be able to tell the difference between murderer and man. Wondered if that would ever be a problem. 

The bell rang again, and Crowley sighed. He put away the prophecies, and went downstairs to greet his new customer, yawning. It had been a long few weeks after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, thanks for sticking around! I hope the ending is good enough!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated!!


End file.
